Adrift
by Aurora2424
Summary: Christmas in July for Shywriter, in which Max suddenly finds herself homeless. M/L
1. Chapter 1

Christmas in July

A/N: I can't apologize enough for how late this is. I feel like the aunt who gives the birthday present two months late. I can only hope everyone won't ban me from future challenges based on my poor showing!

Thanks so much to Lisa who not only gave me feedback and proofread, but also informed me that a July Christmas present for Shywriter should contain a Logan with green eyes :-)

Shywriter's wish list:

1)A "five things" format; 2) Max's second try at making dinner for Logan; 3) A new rider shows up at Jam Pony who exhibits a strange, obsessive fascination with Eyes Only; 4) Max & Logan return to the cabin, this time without Zack or a bounty on Max's head 5) Max & Original Cindy are evicted. Cindy has an invite to move in with 'Chrisette.' Now what?

These prompts weren't just good, they were entire stories wrapped up into one perfect prompt. I fell in love with #5, but I'm not ruling out the possibility of writing a separate fic on #3. Other wish list items will appear in later chapters. Which brings me to the reassurance part, most of this fiction is completed – either in beta or being finished off – and will be along shortly.

And last point, this story doesn't have a particularly strong storyline; it is basically fluffy M/L.

XXXXXX

Sitting on top of Space Needle, Max pondered the day's events, trying to come to terms with what had been a life altering event.

It should have been easy for her by now, she reasoned, but it wasn't, and somehow she knew it never would be.

Max on many occasions had speculated on the ways she was different from others. She knew that her responses to things often differed from those that 'normal' individuals had. She saw it every day, in the little things.

For example, regular people seemed to hate monotony, the constant, well-worn flow of life. Max saw it in their faces as she delivered packages. She saw it in the old woman who tried to keep her porch as long as possible, asking Max questions ranging from the mundane to the impertinent, from the weather to her love life. She saw it in the middle-aged man who looked at her pretty face as a welcome relief to the constant pressure of day, hoping to elicit a small smile from her by repeating joke after corny joke. She even saw it on the boys on the street corners; the ones who tossed her cheesy or lewd pick up lines, not because they thought she'd give them the time of day, but in order to break up the boring hours of sitting on their stoop with nothing to pass the time.

It was something she had never really understood.

Routine delighted Max. Every time she used the light-blue coffee mug with the daisies, she reveled in the comfortable and familiar feel of it in her hand. Each time the chains on her building's door rattled and clattered, Max enjoyed the sound as she would a welcoming doorbell that signaled her returned to a place she had labeled home. Max even found the annoying sound of Normal's 'bip bip' strangely reassuring, as if each condescending syllable reminded her she could pass as regular, at least for a little while.

Max didn't want to lose it, any of it, even the routine of dropping by the penthouse apartment of Seattle's own, clandestine cyberjournalist savior. But, she was afraid she didn't have a choice.

**Max and Original Cindy's apartment, early that day…**

Max's fingers graze the top of her kitchen counter, lightly stroking the various odds and ends that met with her finger tips.

A knife, a kettle, a jar of peanut butter.

Moving along to the living room, Max's hand continued to trail over the surfaces it connected with, memorizing each item as if she were caressing it in good-bye.

It's been a good apartment, Max thought, sighing to herself. Her favorite. Max could still hear the sounds of Original Cindy's voice as it floated down the hallway.

"_No good. Home-wrecking, High n' Mighty, blood-sucking sons of …"_

Let her expend her energy like that, Max thought. Either way there was no denying the inevitable…

It was time to move on.

A slight upturn in Seattle's repressed economy meant many good things for its residents. It meant fewer brownouts, more maintenance workers, and access to long-forgotten supplies.

For Max, it had meant shorter gas lines and greater variety at the farmer markets; or, to be more specific, it meant longer rides on her motorcycle and several new, exotic meals prepared for her by Logan. For a moment, life had seemed good, very good.

However, the rise in Seattle's financial prospects had brought a dark and unexpected rain cloud to Max and Original Cindy's horizon. Construction was a rare thing in the post-pulse world – and construction in Sector 5 was nearly non-existent. But the real estate company which had owned Max's building back in the day, and still managed some of the nicer property in the high-rise district, decided to take a chance on the sector, thinking that if they remodeled some of their former condos they could, perhaps, attract the type of rent-paying individuals who had once populated America's middle-class.

Unfortunately for the two women, Max and Cindy's building happened to be in the best shape of all the company's former properties, rat infestations and all. Or so the man from C&E Realtors had said.

It made Max wonder what type of squalor the rest of Seattle was living in if her building had been deemed, as the sweating, red faced man said: "structurally sound." Even now, after Max had seen the floor plans, it was difficult to picture her dirty little apartment, with it unfinished walls and exposed wiring as the promising location for this new, radical experiment.

In fairness to the man, he had tried to be considerate to the current "residents." He had addressed them like human beings, apologized for the inconvenience, and given the squatters two days to remove the remnants of their life from the building. In an apologetic voice, he told them C&E would be happy to give them first dibs on securing a unit once things were renovated, even having the courtesy to blush at what he knew was a ridiculous offer, little more than lip service. Both he and the residents knew the truth: No one had enough scratch to actually buy an apartment.

Like most communities, Seattle was divided by class. And anyone taking up space in this sector was here because they couldn't afford to be in any of the ritzier ones. It wasn't that they were lazy, most of the people in sector five had low paying jobs and could manage to dredge up enough cash to bribe the utility men and the occasional sector police to avoid the rougher sections, but they would never be able to have enough money to afford the luxuries of uniform paint and tiled floors.

They were, Max sarcastically thought, the true middle-class of the post-pulse age.

The loud sound of Original Cindy's voice threatening a smack down drew Max away from her reflections and back into her present problem. The reality of their situation was that nobody would recognize the apartment as theirs; they had no legal rights to it, and even in this era, legality could make a difference. It had been fine to occupy the space when no one wanted it, but now that it was claimed they needed to get out before C&E decided they owned the residents' stuff too.

What really bummed her ass, thought Max, was this was coming right after they'd gotten the water-heater going. Hot showers and clean undies were all she'd asked for, but it seemed that at least one of those things would remain stubbornly out of reach. Unfortunately, there was no denying the inevitable. It was time to move, again.

Max was completely snapped from her thoughts as Original Cindy came charging back into their apartment and wasted no time informing Max of her opinion, as if Max didn't already know it.

"I just got back from talking to Jacinda. Woman is too saintly for her own good. Says she'll make the best out of it, move in with her sister. Well Original Cindy ain't going to let this go down without a fight. They're gonna have to drag my fine ass outta here."

Without pausing for breath, she continued: "I can't believe these wet-dreamers… what world are they living in? They want utility-paying, down-payment giving, credit optional tenants; well show me the job that can afford all that and I'll be happy to lay down my cheddar for nice flashy living quarters." OC sassed, unaware of what a comical scene she presented.

The men from the real estate company had come after business hours, hoping to catch as many residents in as possible. For Original Cindy, that had meant catching her part way into her beautifying routine.

Half of her hair had been gelled and styled into a natural, poofy wave. The other half, obviously interrupted mid-primp, stood more limply, with a few fuzzy patches sticking out at odd angles.

OC's face was almost as startling as her hair. Heavy foundation had been applied, not just to her face, but also to her lips and eyelids – the perfect canvass Cindy would have said, but it gave her a monochromatic appearance that reminded Max of someone who had been shocked to death, all the blood having drained from the face. She was certainly an apparition to be scared of, especially if you were the suit-wearing middle-age man with the side part. He had been fortunate enough to slip away from the scene before OC had gotten her voice back.

Max didn't respond to her roommate, knowing the tirade was far from finished.

"In today's streets it's all about laying down your mark. I ain't seen these guys here when rats chewed through the floor boards, or when the window was sticking, or when we jimmied the power. Far as I can see we was here first and that means it's ours!"

Original Cindy emphasized her point by putting her foot down, literally and hard. Unfortunately, she was close to unfinished wall and the force of her exclamation made it shake, which it turn caused bits of plaster to rain down on Original Cindy's already disheveled do, giving her the appearance of having just walked through a snow storm.

Max stifled her laugh, but not before Cindy saw the smirk of amusement and used it as catalyst for a new tirade.

"And what's up with you, miss thing? You standing about acting like none of this effects you. What? You got better places to be that Original Cindy don't know nothing about? Or you just glad to be rid of me and this dump? "

Max held up her hands in the universal sign of surrender, hoping her friend would calm down. She laughing replied. "Hey don't get so bent out of shape just cause I'm not letting the man get me down."

"What you been reading up on Herbal's logic or something? Seriously Max, you can't be letting all this flow off you like water." Original Cindy replied, a suspicion gathering in the back of her mind.

Recognizing the insecurity lingering behind's Cindy's statement, Max decided to give her friend an honest answer. "Hardly the first time I've picked up and moved, OC. Sort of been doing it non-stop since I was nine." There was a slightly wistful note to Max's voice as she remembered this was the longest she had ever been able to stay in one place.

Gentling her voice, her friend replied: "Original Cindy hears that sugar, but you're not looking to leave Seattle just because we gotta kick it somewhere else, are you?"

"Nah," Max replied, eager to put her friend's fears to rest. "Figure I'd stick around a bit longer. Unless you're sick of me."

"Original Cindy isn't even hearing that. We'll figure a way to get through this."

Max smiled, recognizing that Cindy was finally coming to terms with the situation. Unable to resist teasing her a bit, Max stated, "This from the girl who was all ready to stage a sit-in until those investors were forced to kick her out?"

OC smiled back, more than willing to banter now that she knew Max wasn't going anywhere. "Well seeing as how this ain't 1965, and the cops they call in will be ready to sell our stuff off the back of a truck, I guess it's time to hit the road."

"I definitely hear that wisdom; unless you want a bunch of people pawing through your shoe collection."

"Don't go there. That's enough to give Original Cindy that creepy crawlies."

"Okay," Max said, finally figuring they were getting somewhere. "So what do you say we try to figure this bitch out?"

"I'm with you boo, but let's do it over a beer."

"Sounds good to me, lead the way."

"You got it just give Original Cindy a minute. I'm afraid today's events might have left me a little less fine than usual. I don't want my new lickity-chick seeing me like this."

For at least one more night, Max and Cindy got ready to go to Crash together, laughing and sharing stories and enjoying the feeling of having a friend close at hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Crash, that same night**.

The scene at Crash was loud and raucous as usual.

The regulars crowded around the bar, making bets on the various bike races. Players racked and struck billiard balls in a familiar rhythm. Smoke, perfume, and dust flavored the air.

It was Friday night and the bar was crowded with people attempting to enjoy life. Everyone was dressed colorfully and crazily – befitting the look of the new, poor millennium.

As she examined the various inhabitants, Max let a sense of comfort wash over her. Much like her apartment, Max knew, this dive bar had started to feel like home.

To emphasize the feeling of familiarity were Max's friends, gathered around the usual table, sharing Cindy and Max's tale of woe. Herbal, Sketchy, Sky, Original Cindy, and Chrisette – OC's new girlfriend 

and former crush - all offered words of consolation, relating their own war stories and promising help. It was… nice, and the beer didn't hurt either.

As Max often thought, life went on, bumbling and laughing in the concrete jungle. She just needed to appreciate it while it did, and not look for anything permanent. Life was fleeting, ephemeral, and eternal: the great oxymoron.

As if responding to Max's thought, Original Cindy chuckled, a low, secretive laugh, and turned to Chrisette who had whispered something in her ear. The petite woman was sitting slightly behind Cindy with her arms wrapped around her, head leaning on shoulder in a gesture meant to soothe. Their body language bespoke a burgeoning connection and OC responded by giving her girlfriend a light peck on the lips – a promise of more to come.

It did Max's heart good to see her friend so happy, especially given everything that had gone down with Diamond, OC's recently deceased ex-flame. Chrisette, a bottle red head, seemed well able to be there for OC during her time of need, and the fact she had gotten over her celibacy issue was a big bonus in OC's book. And apparently in Sketchy's who was having a hard time not staring, his mind already in places that Original Cindy would smack him for, once she noticed.

Herbal Thought continued the conversation, doing his best to spread his religious over-standpoint: "Look at the bright side, my sisters, you're fulfilling your destiny here, and this set back in your home life will only lead to greater fulfillment. The most high has sent you on an odyssey, a quest for self-fulfillment, and you will come to rest at the place you were meant to be."

"Herbal, how many of those beers you been sipping?" Original Cindy interjected. "The only place Max and I are going to is on the street corner with the rest of the homeless."

"Now that's a bit drama heavy, OC." Sketchy counter. "You both got friends who ain't gonna let that happen. You're always welcome in my castle, humble though it might be."

Sometimes Sketchy could really surprised you, Max thought. Just when you had him pegged as a bumbling, selfish idiot – he did something that reminded you why you watched his back.

"He's right." Herbal added, "My woman and I would be happy to have you, if need comes."

"And there is no way I'm gonna let my baby have a concrete pillow," Chrisette playfully added, caressing the side of OC's face as she said so.

"Well in that case," OC seductively added to her girlfriend, "I know what place I want to be at," raising her eyebrows in a suggestive fashion.

Apparently, OC hadn't been kidding when she said lesbians moved quickly; the women had only been dating for two short weeks. It was difficult for Max to believe Chrisette had insisted on a platonic relationship only a few months ago. Apparently, she'd had her fill and was making up for lost time, much to Cindy's satisfaction and Sketchy's unsavory delight.

Max declared, "Thanks guys, it's nice to know someone's got our backs."

"Yeah. It's good to you know we've got peeps watching out for us." Cindy stated, barely removing her eyes from Chrisette as she laced her fingers with hers.

"Whenever they need watching," murmured a distracted Sketchy, who a few seconds later let out a startled "Ow!" Original Cindy had finally noticed his stare and slapped him upside the head.

The beeping from Max's pager signaled the end of their conversation as she got up to leave.

"Gotta blaze." Max stated, making a show of checking the number so Cindy wouldn't provoke her later.

She needn't have bothered. Original Cindy didn't even turn her eyes from the female beside her.

"Later." Sketchy commented, "And remember Max, my offer stands solid. If you need some place to crash, you got options."

"Yes, I meant it as well." Herbal stated. "But remember what I said about life's journey. We must be open to ways of universe."

Max gave them both a grateful smile. She was almost beyond 'regular' ear shot, when Cindy finally noticed her departure and called out a parting shot.

"Hey Max!" Cindy's taunted. "You can always ask rich boy if you can loft it at his lush pad."

Max didn't bother to reply, only rolled her eyes before making her way to the exit.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Just outside Logan Cale's apartment, same day…**

Although Max and Logan's activities could never be described as ordinary, their interactions had come to have a familiar cadence to them, a safe pattern of give and take based on a series of established tableaux.

Calling, paging, dropping by – each had a special meaning, a particular set of rules, which Max found strangely reassuring. This carefully constructed and unarticulated pattern comprised their comfort zone, their boundaries. It allowed them to move closer and further from one another as the situation demanded, and allowed each to maintain the heavily guarded defense perimeters that both so desperately needed.

It kept things from getting out of hand…

As Max picked the lock, hoping to catch Logan by surprise, she briefly considered about telling him about her apartment.

Sharing information like this was allowed under their tacit agreement. It usually went like this: when Logan introduced a scenario of city-wide importance she would respond by telling him about her latest 

personal dilemma, each playing their role of obsessed crusader and indifferent bystander with practiced ease. He would pretend annoyance and she nonchalance.

Their conversation might seem confusing to an outsider, but they both knew they were following, really hearing the other. She would inevitably agree to help his cause, and he would continue to ask for updates on whatever Crash or Jam pony event was the subject of her casual banter until it had been resolved.

Thinking about it sparked a burning sensation inside Max. She liked it. Logan was the only man who had ever done that to her – made her feel cared for, listened to.

But then again, Max reminded herself, that's who he was. It wasn't a unique response she inspired in him. Logan Cale always stepped up and did what is right when people needed it, providing a patient shoulder or a couple of thousand bucks.

Calm and cool to his own pain, his empathy could always been engaged when someone else called for help. It's what motivated him to begin Eyes Only; it's what drove his obsession now.

And in this situation that would mean finding her a new apartment, and offering her the use of a safe house in the meantime. That was him, Logan Cale, protector of the downtrodden.

Well there was no way Max was going to let him see her as one of the downtrodden. She didn't need his help or his resources. She was neither helpless nor one of the opportunistic asses who clung to Logan as a money-giving foundation.

She had seen them before – the gambling cousin who'd showed up a few weeks back begging for Logan's help lest the mafia men break his knees; the recently sober ex-wife with a new husband who'd attempted to manipulate him; even the occasional Eyes Only informant who would ask Logan for a small handout in exchange for doing what their conscience should motivated them to do anyway.

And he always gave in, always gave up the cream. He figured he didn't know what it was like to need money, and it meant nothing to him, so why not. But Max knew, deep down, there was a small part of him that looked at those people with disdain – and an even deeper, smaller part that felt used. And that was the last thing Max wanted him to see when he looked at her.

So instead, Max decided it would be best to employ another one of their favorite patterns – avoidance.

XXX

"Hey, Max." Logan stated, looking up and smiling slightly. His green eyes twinkled from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He knew he'd won this round of their game, catching Max before she'd gotten a chance to sneak up on him.

"What's up?" Max asked, nodding toward the computer.

"Little situation over in South Street's market. Suppliers are using the upturn in the economy to bring in materials grown in unsanitary environments – land with high levels of radiation, near abandoned factories."

"Doesn't exactly seem like the kind of thing Eyes Only would usually bother about." Max ventured, registering his easy tone and the less than dire circumstances.

His smiled grew a little, obviously pleased that she picked up on that fact. "You're right. It's not. But Logan Cale, black-sheep of the Seattle Cales, hasn't published anything in a while, and this seemed like a good piece to change that."

"So where do I come in?" Max asked, knowing from long practice that he always presented the situation before asking for her help.

"Well, the business owners who are receiving the goods have claimed that they don't know anything about the origins of the products and have agreed with me that they shouldn't continue to sell the stuff."

"Ahh… but now that they know the face of an interested journalist, you're not going to be able to tell whether or not they have the stuff stashed below the counter."

"Yep."

"So what am I shopping for?" Max asked, ready for the next phase of this mission.

"Carrots, potatoes – any root vegetable." Logan offered.

"Good. Because if they'd tainted the berry supply I'd have to kick someone's ass."

Conscious of the fact she'd provided an opening for dinner, Logan willingly asked: "Why? In the mood for some?"

"Always!" Max enthusiastically stated, already anticipating a pleasant evening.

"Hmmm… just so happens I have some blueberries all ready for a dessert. Interested in sharing?"

"Logan Cale, do you even have to ask?" Max asked, turning to sashay her way to the kitchen.

He watched her retreating form, knowing the answer to her rhetorical question. Yes, he did need to ask; she wouldn't stay if he didn't, no matter how much they both wanted her to. Sighing slightly at the thought, Logan wheeled to the kitchen, ready for their next act; he already knew the lines by heart.

XXXXXXXX

**Logan's apartment, three hours later…**

A delicious dinner, engaging conversation, and a bottle of pre-pulse wine later, Max was feeling much better about her apartment situation, and willing to look at it a little like Herbal had suggested. It was 

an adventure, and thankfully, not a Manticore induced one. This time around, if she planned accordingly, Max might be able to keep some of her stuff. Not to mention she'd still be near her friends, her job, Crash, and Logan.

If that was all, perhaps it would lead to a better place – albeit it needed to be one with a working elevator. She just needed some help with the logistics, and for that, she decided to turn to the master.

At a lull in the conversation, Max casually mentioned: " I'm looking to store some stuff temporarily, know any reliable places around the area?"

Logan paused for a moment before answering. "Maybe."

It was their usual pattern again. Someone would ask a vague question, and rather than asking for more information, the other would find a way to force the first to elaborate.

"Just some personal stuff, and not for long."

"Going somewhere?" His tone was deceptively indifferent, but they both knew what he was really fishing for.

"Not really. Just have a few issues with the apartment, need to keep the stuff safe and dry."

Max felt guilty about misleading him, but figured she hadn't lied. So what if he assumed something was wrong with the water heater again. By the time he was the wiser, she'd already be setup somewhere else.

The suspicion hadn't totally left his voice, but he volunteered, "I have some storage space in the basement of Fogle if you want to borrow it. I think it's nearly empty, only a few odds and ends."

"Thanks, Logan." Max replied, genuinely grateful for his help.

"Sure, just let me know when."

Max playfully leaned forward, invading Logan's personal space, as she whispered into his ear: "When."

Just barely, Logan managed to contain his shudder of awareness.

It was to be the first of many times in the following weeks that he would need to mediate his reactions to Max's invasion of his personal space.

XXXXX


	2. Chapter 2

**Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel**

**Outside Fogle Towers…**

"Damn Max. I knew he was wealthy, but I had no idea he'd be living in this sweet of a building." Sketchy huffed, sweating profusely, as he pushed one of the three carts that contained all of Max's Earthly possessions.

It was the day after Max's conversation with Logan, and she had decided to take advantage of his meeting with an informant to store her stuff.

"Yeah, girl," Original Cindy added, "if I had an opportunity to kick it here I sure wouldn't be living in sector 5."

Max, as flippantly as possible, tried for the thousandth time to get the nature of her relationship with Logan through their dense minds.

"We're not like that. He's just letting me borrow some storage space until I can find a new apartment. Just because I leave my hot plate at someone's place, doesn't mean I'm knocking boots with them."

"Whatever you say, boo." Cindy answered.

The three friends came up to the entrance of Logan's parking garage, and Max stepped forward, catching the eye of the security guard on duty.

"Hey, Eddy. Logan let you know I was stopping by to store some stuff?"

"Oh. Hello, Miss." Eddy replied, his eyes immediately changing from one of suspicion to one of welcome. The man looked exactly like one would expect in a place like this, middle-aged, slightly over-weight and with a friendly visage. Max knew from experience they kept the 'real' security guards in back in case of break ins or cat burglars. "Mr. Cale said you'd be needing access to the basement storage bins. Follow me."

Max ignored the self-important glances Original Cindy and Sketchy gave to the people on the street as they entered the swank building. She followed Eddy as he led the way down an elevator to a floor of Logan's building she had never seen.

Like most things in Logan's world, the area was clean and well-kept. The doors down the hallway had corresponding numbers to each of the apartments above, and no windows in order to keep the contents private. Max passed various familiar numbers, noting Miss Moreno's door and catching the faintly musty smell that emanated from inside. They stopped in front of the door that obviously led to the largest area, labeled: Penthouse.

"Thanks Eddy."

"No problem, Miss, and may I just say it's a pleasure to know you're finally moving in."

There was no holding back the explosion of laughter from Original Cindy and Sketchy, and it was all Max could do to ignore her friends and kindly respond, "Thanks, but I'm not moving in. I just got kicked out my place over in Sector 5, new construction, and Logan's letting me borrow some storage space in the meantime."

"My mistake." He'd quickly added, confused and a bit embarrassed by the loud chortles coming from her friends.

"No big dealio." She smiled benignly, before turning an evil eye on Cindy who was only now reining in her amusement.

The chastised security guard shuffled off, leaving the friends to move into Logan's neglected space. Moth balls and stale air filled the room and Max astutely ignored all the boxes, even the delectably tempting one labeled 'personal.'

Neither Sketchy nor Original Cindy was brave enough to venture another word, but they didn't need to – Max could see their laughter in their eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two days passed before Logan began to suspect anything.

It would have been longer, but he decided to change up Max and his routine by calling, rather than paging, to ask her to dinner. Much to his shock, it wasn't Original Cindy's or Max's voice that picked up the phone, but a rougher, deeper, unmistakably male one.

Immediately, he began to run through the various reasons that a man would be answering the phone at Max's. Unfortunately, all of them ended with a series of incriminating facts: it was Saturday morning, they'd probably been to Crash the previous night, they'd been drinking, she was young and beautiful.

The sinking feeling in Logan's gut was offset by his next words: "Is Max there?" he politely inquired, trying to think up some task for Eyes Only he needed her to do.

"Who?" the gruff voice responded.

"Max. Is Max there?"

"I'm not sure. Hold on."

The discomfort Logan was experiencing was replaced by anger. The man had just spent the night with a goddess; he could at least have the courtesy to know her name.

The voice came back, interrupting his thoughts. "Nobody here by that name, buddy. Maybe you're trying to get in touch with the electrician from our last project – he's not working this one."

"Project?" Logan asked. "Wait, where is it that I'm calling?"

The man repeated Max's address.

"I'm sorry but I'm trying to get a hold of a young lady by that name." Logan had pressed, thoroughly confused.

"Oh! You must be looking to get in touch with one of the former residents, hold on, I'll get the boss."

It had taken another ten minutes, but eventually Logan had learned what he needed to know. Max wasn't living there anymore, and had neglected to tell him. With a different type of sinking feeling in his gut, Logan grabbed the keys to his storage closet, praying the contents wouldn't confirm his suspicions.

XXX

A quick look into the unit revealed the truth. Max's bed and many of her personal items were within sight. Logan found his heart contracting painfully - surely she hadn't totally left town without telling him, at least not permanently?

Making his way back through the parking garage he was met with Eddy.

"Mr. Cale, good to see you."

"Hey, Eddy, how's it going?" Logan distractedly asked.

"Not bad, can't complain. I was sorry to hear about Miss Guevara's situation the other day. Always sad to be kicked out of one's apartment. Terrible times we live in."

"Yes, aren't they?" Logan returned, his jaw settling into a hard line.

Eddy, the security guard, knew she had been kicked out her place, but he – her…friend, didn't? As quickly as the elevator allowed, Logan returned to his apartment and began paging Max.

XXXX

"Logan. Hey." Max called as she entered the penthouse.

She didn't get a verbal response, but she found him, in his living room with his arms folded giving her an intense stare.

"You paged." she casually stated, aware that something was off.

"Hmm. Yeah, I was just wondering how your day was going…considering your state of homelessness," he declared, daring her to contradict him.

Max realized she was busted and consciously kept her voice unconcerned as she asked, "How'd you hear?"

"Interesting story, I called you - only to have a burly construction worker answer; well I assume he's burly, hard to tell that sort of thing over the phone."

"Usually a safe bet though," Max attempted to joke, reminding herself she had nothing to be ashamed of.

Logan dropped the false front, and responded in an accusatory tone: "And it's usually a safe bet that you're friends and acquaintances would bother to tell you if they suddenly found themselves without a roof over their heads."

He was angry, she was surprised to realize, really angry.

"What? You didn't think it was important to mention that fact?" he continued, using her momentary silence as an opening to vent. "Figured I didn't deserve to be in on the loop?"

If Logan had expected his words to make Max feel duly chastised he was sadly mistaken. Unabated anger and insecurity buried from a few months ago rose up in Max, fueling her response.

"Not everything about me is automatically your business Logan."

She hadn't meant to go there; it had slipped.

He was taken aback by her answer, and stealthily avoided her allusion to the Vertes situation as he focused on his own resentment: "So you potentially leaving town isn't my business?"

"I never said I was leaving." Max automatically replied, still mad, but getting a better sense of where his anger was stemming from.

"Aren't you?" Logan asked, searching her face and refusing to back down from the course he'd set.

"I'm just on the search for a new apartment. No big dealio." Max answered, attempting to lighten the mood and starting to feel a different discomfort at his piercing stare.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Logan's eyes still blazed, though the fear in his stomach began to lessen. "I could have helped."

She ignored the earnestness in his voice, and countered: "You know a good real estate agent or something?"

"Max…" he warned.

Logan wasn't ready for this conversation to breakdown into light-hearted banter. He needed to know why she hadn't told him because it bothered him for reasons he couldn't articulate. All he knew was that this was something he was good at, what he did. He could have fixed this for her, and she hadn't let him. And that upset him.

So many things were unfixable, unsolvable, but this – this could be dealt with.

"I've got it under control Logan. I'm staying with Original Cindy's girlfriend for the time being, until I can find more permanent digs." She soothed, "If I needed something, you know me, I wouldn't hesitate to ask."

The joking reference to her supposedly mercenary tendencies didn't sit well with Logan. It wasn't the first time he'd been made uncomfortable by a comment like that – he'd nearly snapped her head off when she'd asked to attend the genetic conference – but this time, he felt infuriated by her self-deprecation, at her insistence on something so obviously untrue.

Max noticed he didn't smile, and felt her discomfort growing. Logan needed to realize he was breaking their pattern, going into places that they usually left alone.

"Do you promise me you'd ask?" Logan finally inquired, completely serious.

"Hey. I already have my stuff stored in your basement; Eddy thought I was moving in, so I've already taken advantage of you." Max answered.

Logan felt a small surge of heat at her words; he wanted her to take advantage of him in many ways.

Max misinterpreted the look and brusquely added: "I'm not looking for a handout here Logan. So quit trying to classify me with the rest of the free-loaders you know."

This time he wasn't so distracted that he didn't hear the implications behind her words. And it hit him: Max was worried that he'd see her problem as another person coming to him for financial help, and she didn't want him to think that. The thought touched him in a way that only Max seemed able to.

Something about her background lent an air of artlessness and sincerity to her actions. To her – family was family, friends were friends – all else fell to the wayside. In consequence, her sympathy and acts of generosity felt purer, more real. He saw it in the way she purchased random food items for him, in thanks and payment for his meals. He felt it when he watched her have a seizure and all she asked for was company. He noticed it in her interaction with children, her protectiveness and fascination with them. And lately, he had begun to recognize it in her actions toward him – the current situation a case in point.

His own experiences with the human psyche had left him woefully unprepared for such reasoning. He never even considered that her motivations behind not telling him were caused by thoughtfulness.

"Hey." He stated gently. "Friends don't get taken advantage of. They lend a hand."

There was a pause of a few heartbeats before Max smiled widely at Logan's response, recognizing the magnanimousness spirit of the man in front of her. He could do that to her, she knew, make her feel special and nurtured with a single sentence. Suddenly, depending on him didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Summing up her courage, Max responded: "Well, now that you mention it; there is one small luxury Chrisette's apartment doesn't afford…"

XXXXXXXXX

The first morning Max showered at his apartment, Logan woke up with a start. He heard the water going, and for a wild moment he thought someone had broken into his place. When he realized it was Max, he relaxed, temporarily. But for the next hour, Logan tossed and turned in bed, trying to get back to sleep.

She wasn't loud. As befitted a cat burglar, she was nearly silent, the only sound he heard came from the shower going on and off. It frustrated him when he didn't even notice the door opening or closing, and he was unable to determine what room she was in.

He willed himself not to listen and to focus on his breathing, but still Logan squirmed, wanting to see what she was up to, intrigued by her presence.

For the first three days he followed that pattern, maintaining what he saw as a respectful distance, but it was infuriating. He felt like a cross between a young child waiting in bed on Christmas morning and a patient getting stitches on a numb area who was told not to look. He wanted to look.

So on that fourth morning as his eyes shot open at the first sounds of water, he decided it was ridiculous for him not to not do as he liked in his own apartment, and before the spray had turned off he quickly transferred into his chair and wheeled into the kitchen to put on coffee.

He knew the aroma would alert her of his presence, and he wasn't disappointed. Clad in his red robe, the one she had stolen after the mud/Bronck incident, she came sauntering in – using one of his small towels to squeeze the moisture from her damp hair.

"Morning." She offered, feeling out the situation.

"Morning Max. Want some coffee?"

As always, Logan kept his eyes expressly neutral, focusing on the task of pouring himself a cup, rather than Max's glistening skin. Nothing about her bespoke sleepiness or morning, something Logan knew wasn't true of himself.

"Mmmm… you know just what to say to a girl." Max teased, purposely inhaling a deep whiff of the enticing smell.

They weren't on fair footing, he instantly realized, as part of his brain recognized their usual repartee, but the other, more sleep addled side, sent heated messages throughout his body.

"So I've been told."

It was a stupid response, the type of suggestive comment he avoided when talking to Max. He neither wanted to encourage conversations about his sexual past nor to make claims he would never get the chance to back up.

Max raised her eyebrow slightly, aware that Logan had varied from their usual rhythm.

"I'll just go get dressed," Max stated, ignoring their conversation for now.

By the time Max returned, Logan seemed much more awake. He was pouring himself another cup of coffee and reading something that looked suspiciously like a newspaper.

"I can't believe you'd bother reading that pro-government drabble; isn't it sullying the whole Eyes Only do-gooding vibe?" Max asked.

Logan smirked at her comment, amused by her choice of words.

"I'm afraid it's a bit of a morning ritual. The non-free press always gets me motivated to start the day."

"Hmm… a bit of a jolt to get you ready to fight for widows and small children?"

"Something like that."

"Well don't mind me; I'll just ignore the trappings of our broken world for the morning and go about making a living." Max responded.

She had to admit she was pretty interested in this previously unknown aspect of Logan's day. She wondered what other little habits he had that she knew nothing about, other than sleeping on his left side.

"Do you have time for some breakfast before work?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly.

Max smiled at the familiar gesture, recognizing it as a sign of weariness. Coupled with his disheveled hair and blurry eyes, he was downright adorable in the morning – and mixture of gruff man and little boy. And like most of Logan Cale's attributes, it could be lethal.

"I don't want to put you to any trouble. I usually just grab something over at this little shop near work." Max replied. She wanted to be clear she wasn't going to take advantage of Logan's hospitality, well at least no more than usual.

"No trouble. I have to eat anyway; not a big deal putting in enough for two." He smiled as he spoke, making the suggestion with perfect ease.

His smile and offer were irresistible, the ultimate combination, and so Max decided she could at least take advantage of him for one morning.

"Well, when you put it that way…"

XXXXXX

They spent the next hour eating French toast – far more delicious than any she'd had before – and discussing the various inadequacies of the headlines and stories in the _Seattle Time_. It felt more than just nice, it felt cozy and domestic and relaxing as Max sat on the counter swinging her legs back and 

forth, munching on her breakfast, as Logan sat beside her, reading everything aloud and taking large sips of his coffee.

Surprisingly, it wasn't an entirely unproductive venture either.

Max had never bothered to read the propaganda put out by the government, and so she never realized how much of it could easily be disproved or debated just by someone who was able to move freely between sectors. Logan learned, in the space of thirty minutes, that the supposed construction in sector three had not commenced; that the fire in sector seven had actually occurred in sector two; and that state senator Mcmillian often answered for a packages in his underwear far from his home in sector 9.

"The man has a thing for animal print boxers, real unappetizing if you ask me," Max added, enjoying the laughs she had been able to evoke from Logan as she spooned another large forkful of French toast into her mouth.

"And how often does this happen?" he inquired, interested more in their playful gossip than any Eyes Only connections.

"Two, maybe three times a week."

"And how often do you get stuck with the task of delivering them to him?" Logan wanted to know, wondering why Mcmillian didn't just set up a personal mule service for whatever he was getting.

Max raised her eyebrows, surprised at his obtuseness.

"Wait. Are you saying _you_ always deliver to him?" Logan asked.

"Me or Original Cindy. Guy insists on it to Normal. He's always up when we get there, if you get my drift." Max answered, suddenly uncomfortable with their conversation. It's not like she purposely hid the dirt bags she dealt with from Logan, it's just not something that came up.

Logan frowned at her answer and silently began to speculate on whether Eyes Only really did need to investigate his obviously suspicious activities.

"At least he's one hell of tipper," Max joked, thinking of the five bucks he routinely handed off to her and Cindy.

Logan quickly took another bite of breakfast, feeling a little stupid about the alpha-male emotions that were currently running through his mind, blaming them on the morning. Hadn't he always known Max could take care of herself?

"Anyway, I'd like to see him try something with Cindy. She has the special knee to groin thing she does with men who try and touch her. The last guy that started something at Crash was talking an octave higher for the next week."

Logan smiled thinly and returned their conversation back to safer ground, asking if she knew anything about the renovations to Pioneer Square.

Soon it was time for Max to depart. She thanked him for the breakfast and bade him not to get too worked up over the journalistic filth, taking one extra minute to appreciate the brightness of his eyes in the morning before dashing away from her emotions.

Finally alone and able to think clearly – three cups later- Logan grinned as he looked down at the paper in his lap. He had to admit, having Max around in mornings was a sort of pleasant way to start the day, as long as he could ignore the red robe and her deliciously fresh scent after her shower. Chuckling slightly at the image of Mcmillian in leopard print boxers, Logan went to start up his computer and begin the day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	3. Chapter 3

A big thanks to Lisa, without whom this would be an even bigger rambling mess!

XXXXXX

That first morning set the routine for the next five days.

Max's shower signaled to Logan that it was time to get up and get the coffee started, so the smell of brewing coffee and delicious breakfast goodies would always greet her as she stepped from the bathroom into the hallway. Max was never able to resist breakfast when she could smell the delicious aromas from the pan or see the muffins that had made the day before. It gave her the forbearance to put up with Logan's newspaper habit.

Despite the enjoyment the routine brought them, it wasn't all good.

Hearing Max's moans of appreciation for his cooking were significantly more dangerous before his second cup of coffee had kicked in. And the sight of her, clad only in his robe –grabbing a cup of coffee before she dressed –sparked some unsettling daydreams.

On Max's part, she found the whole extra scruffy, un-caffeinated, morning Logan to be terribly endearing. He was far clumsier, less guarded, and more flirtatious before that now infamous second cup kicked in. She couldn't help but wonder if that was more what he would be like if they ever let barriers down, and simply acted on instinct. On several occasions she'd found herself tempted to yank coffee away from him before sensible, guarded Logan made his appearance. It was the image that was often coupled with ones of her sitting down in his lap and giving him a reason to put down newspaper and begin his day in a brand new way.

So although their interaction added a positive aspect to both of their schedules, Max beginning the day clean and well-fed and Logan finding himself rejuvenated and upbeat with the occasional Eyes Only tip, they both recognized the danger of the mornings. If control was ever going to slip, if pure insanity was ever going to rule, it would most likely be during this untested time period.

XXX

More began to change than just which meal they ate together. Their punchy, quick-witted banter also altered slightly in the morning light.

Without O.C. to vent to, Max found herself pursuing conversation with Logan with a much chattier, personal bent to them. More than once she needed to stop herself before complaining about such mundane topics as the lack of toothpaste or shaving razors. She even once went so far as to complain about how she was running out of clothes because Chrisette wouldn't let her use the sink. That, of course, had prompted the offer of using his washing machine – a not unwelcome, but still boundary-crossing situation that Max had hoped to avoid. Nevertheless, she found she couldn't stop the flow of personal anecdotes.

Logan speculated it might have something to do with spending the previous eight hours largely by herself, processing the daily events. It was only natural that after all that alone time her thoughts would more willingly bubble to the surface. It was something that he began to look forward to; aware that it afforded him the opportunity to see a side of Max she usually kept hidden.

For example, it was obvious from her tone that Max was less than thrilled about her current situation – finding herself walking on egg shells around Chrisette, who seemed happy to have Original Cindy there, but less so about Max's presence.

"It's not like I'm even there that often. I mean - revved up girl who doesn't require much sleep. Most nights I don't stay there past two hours."

"Then where do you go?" Logan asked, curious about her nights.

"Either the Space Needle or riding around on my baby," Max shrugged. "But I'm certainly not there causing trouble."

Logan pondered this new information silently, forming a series of mental images to add his Max file. Outwardly he pressed: "Maybe that looks suspicious."

"Yeah, well that's what Original Cindy implied. She said Chrisette feels uncomfortable with me coming in at all hours. Like she even hears me. The woman snores like a trucker."

Logan chuckled. Even though he had only met Max's friends on a handful of occasions her descriptions always made him feel like he knew them personally.

"So it's either cage myself up all night, where I definitely can't get any sleep, or use my precious funds on more gas."

Logan caught the reference to her scant finances with interest. Max rarely complained about money around him. Either because she was too proud, or she was worried Logan might try and offer her compensation for her work with Eyes Only. Reluctantly, Logan admitted to himself, that earlier on in their relationship he might have been stupid enough try.

The recitation of the trials and tribulations of living with Chrisette ultimately allowed Logan to ask the question he had wondering about for several days now, but knew she'd be reluctant to answer.

"So Max, how long has it been since you've really _slept_."

She bristled slightly at reference to her genetic anomaly, but gave him a straightforward answer: "Not like it matters, but since the last night in my old place."

"Over a week?" Logan echoed, his concern evident.

"No big dealio. I can go a full two before it really drags me down. It's more the sense of being rootless that gets to me, you know. Living out of my backpack, no place to really feel comfortable." Max shrugged. "Whatever, I'll find someplace soon."

"How is the search?" Logan asked, glad she'd initiated the conversation.

"Tough," Max answered honestly. "It's not like I can just check the newspapers. Any place that can afford to advertise is kind of out of my budget, and well, it's hard to find a decent place to squat at. I'm not willing to live in South Street, or any of the gang occupied areas…"

Logan nodded, relieved she wouldn't consider that.

"And most of the nicer places in Sector 5 are already taken. Plus, with the added necessity of a working elevator, well let's just say it isn't easy."

"Elevator?" Logan inquired.

"Can't drag my baby up a flight of steps, and there aren't too many parking garages apart from those in the high-rise district," Max ribbed.

Logan frowned, "What about a first floor apartments?"

"No thanks, I'd actually like to be able to keep my stuff for a few days." Max responded.

He hadn't thought about that; of course first floor apartments would be more prone to break-ins and sector police inspections. He vaguely recalled how the first floor of Max's building was unoccupied.

"If you needed to, you could always keep your bike here, Max. There is plenty of room in the building's garage, and I'm sure the guards know you by now."

Max's eyes quickly shifted away from his as she retorted: "No. Thanks."

Logan looked at her, aware he'd stepped over a boundary but unsure why. "What? You'll have separation anxiety or something?" he joked, wondering if the problem was she was hesitant to leave anything permanently with him.

"Something like that. So, what's for breakfast?" Max hedged, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

It left Logan disoriented, completely unable to decipher the mystery of Max. For a woman who was willing to leave the contents of her apartment in his storage space, her toothbrush in his guest bathroom, and various bits of laundry in his closet – she seemed oddly unwilling to let him keep her motorcycle so she could find a new apartment with stairs. Shaking his head in frustration, Logan set about cooking the perfect omelet.

For her part, Max was also irritated at the obtuseness of Logan Cale.

Sure she could endure the slight inconvenience of housing her baby away from her residence, after all she'd been on the run for years, departing more than one place with nothing but the clothes on her back or the stuff contained in a small back pack, but she hardly thought he would endure the indignity of scooting upstairs on his ass.

It's not like she expected him to make regular visits to her place, but Max wanted to keep the option open in case there were any unforeseen Eyes Only emergencies. She refused to acknowledge the other, more clandestine image that stubbornly popped into her mind - of Logan and her making out after one of those scenarios and being interrupted by the embarrassment of her stairwell. All Max knew was that as long as she lived in Seattle her placed needed to be Logan accessible. It was a far easier accommodation to make than any accessibility to her heart.

Moodily, she watched as Logan wheeled from the stove to her spot on the kitchen isle, taking the perfectly cooked omelet from his lap and placing it in front of her.

XXXXXXXX

**A few days later…**

"She's jealous!" Max angrily shot at a confused Logan.

He cringed a bit at her tone, hoping he wasn't the source of it. He had been in the middle of lazily contemplating whether her robe was tied in a single of double knot when her angry tone had made him jump. He desperate hoped she hadn't noticed the direction of his eyes.

"Huh? Who?" he dully replied, making sure to take a large gulp of coffee in the hopes it would quickly kick in.

Max began pacing his kitchen, giving him a look of reproach for his denseness. "Chrisette! Says she's uncomfortable with Original Cindy's and my close relationship. As if I'm one day going to wake up and decide I've had enough with men and suddenly want to kick it with females!"

Logan nodded slowly, beginning to follow.

"I mean, what the hell? With my past experiences with men, I think I would have grabbed the all girl bus a long time ago if that were a possibility!"

Logan choked faintly on his coffee, suddenly wide awake. This was totally out of line with what was deemed "safe". Resisting the urge to ask about those relationships, Logan countered: "So what does she want you to do about it?"

"She wants me to move out. She didn't say so straight out, but that's what she was getting at," Max stated, her tone still more exaggerated than Logan was use to seeing.

"And what did Original Cindy say?"

"Told Chrisette she had nothing to worry about. Told me we'd talk about it later. Blah blah. She wants me to move out too. She didn't say it, but I can tell she thinks it's for the best."

"I'm sorry, Max. Do you think you'll be able to afford a place on your own?" Logan questioned, genuinely concerned. He knew the plan had been for Original Cindy and Max to find an apartment together and he'd thought before that it might not happen if they spent enough time at Chrisette's.

"Hmm?" Max asked, distracted. "Oh, yeah. It'll be fine. It just gets me that it was Original Cindy who was all worried about me skipping out on her, and now she's the one ditching me. What is it about relationships that make someone's brain wiring go all screwy?" Max questioned.

Logan wasn't sure if it was a rhetorical question or not, but decided to give it a try.

"Overdose of hormones?" Logan offered.

"Maybe. I think it's all the together time. Makes their judgment get all warped; like they can't think for themselves anymore."

Logan smiled and used it as a transition into the real issue behind this news.

"Speaking of spending time with people, where are you going to live now that you're being displaced. Cause if you need…"

"Herbal's." Max interrupted, unwilling to let Logan propose his safe house or alternate apartment he probably had somewhere. She didn't know why, but the thought of Logan proposing any of those options annoyed her.

"Okkaay." Logan stated, getting the point. "What do you say we get breakfast started and forget about Chrisette's hang-ups for a bit?

"Sounds good. I'll just go and put something on."

Briefly their eyes met and Logan's unruly eyebrow quirked up in acknowledgements of Max's words, as if challenging her with the notion he didn't mind. Rather than responding to their non-verbal banter, Max signaled suggestively down his own body, knowingly. Logan reddened, wondering if she had X-ray vision, before realizing she was referring to a coffee stain on his lower shirt.

Catching his gaze once again, Max smiled briefly in victory before confidently flouncing away, leaving an uncomfortable Logan in her wake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Logan knew the next few weeks were a series of annoying events for Max, yet he couldn't help but look forward to each morning's amusing story.

It was sort of like the nursery rhyme of Goldilocks, trying out all of her available options – except there was never a point where it became 'just right.'

Laughing to himself, Logan remembered Max's first night at Herbal's. Unlike Goldilocks her complaint hadn't been that the porridge was too hot, instead it was:

"It stinks!" she unceremoniously announced, dumping her bag of belongings on a chair in Logan's kitchen.

Logan had been up already, having pulled an all-nighter doing Eyes Only research.

He saw Max's glare of annoyance at noticing he hadn't been to bed – a habit of his she'd become acquainted with and was always upset with him over. He knew it was only a matter of time before she dealt with him in the way they'd become accustomed, but first she wanted to discuss the issue at hand.

"I don't' know what the hell his woman was cooking, but Logan, it smelled like dirty-laundry, rotten eggs, and something yet unidentified."

"Wow, something an X5 won't eat…impressive," he bantered back, aware he'd get less grief if he seemed awake.

"And that' s not all. They have ridiculous nicknames for each other. Logan… she calls him Pookums. Herbal… Pookums." She couldn't hold it in anymore, Max dissolved into a quivering mass of laughter – a cross between sleep-deprivation and repressed hilarity. Her laughter was contagious and Logan joined in too.

Maybe it was his own exhaustion, but mid-way through her explosion, Logan had had a nearly unbearable urge to pull her quaking body into his lap and drink in her mirth while simultaneously burying his hands in her hair. The effort to restrain his desire caused the lightness to disappear from the moment.

She seemed to sense his tension upon holding back, and stop mid-laughter; returning his intense look with a quizzical one of her own. Shaking herself out of this odd moment, Max remembered Logan's night had been sleepless.

"So what was it tonight?" she asked.

"Drug-ring. As you know, Mcmillian's been covering for the group in exchange for a personal supply. I just needed to follow a paper trail, or electronic trail if you will, from him to certain legal mandates before I could do the hack. I finished up an hour ago, and have been putting stuff together for the broadcast."

"Uh-huh. So no loose ends?"

"Nope. I think I'm ready to put these guys out of business."

"Damn Logan, nothing like ruining my financial arrangements. If all my supposedly legitimate ways of earning cash dry up how am I supposed to afford Crash?" Max playfully asked.

Although he rolled his eyes at her, part of Logan felt guilty about the bust. He now had a much better idea of Max's actual financial situation given some of the apartments she'd needed to reject because of expense. He'd been sure that the one of Elm Street would be a good fit, and had been surprised when Max had thanked him for the efforts but had asked if he thought she could really scratch up that much dough monthly.

It had taken a great deal of willpower on his end not to do something Max would view as intrusive and patronizing. It had also left him much more sensitive to her realities.

"What do you say I make it up to you by cooking dinner tonight?" he suggested, wanting to do something.

"Mmm… given the givens about Herbal's, I'd say that would be a definite. See you around eight?" she'd asked.

"How about seven?" Logan countered.

"Sounds good. Now go shower while I put on the coffee." Max commanded.

She did this when he didn't sleep; she'd order him to clean up and would make coffee and run down the to the corner market for breakfast pastries.

He had no way of knowing how impossibly sexy Max found him most mornings, with his hair flattened on the left side and his speech deeper and slightly fuzzy. Nor did he have any idea of how deeply it affected her to see him, eyes red rimmed, face unshaven fresh from a night spent crusading for the masses. It brought out all her protective, care-giving instincts that she managed to repress by putting on her outer soldier.

It therefore annoyed her when, after the second time of getting them breakfast, she'd found that an account had been started at the shop, ready for her to put in her order when days like this occurred. Why couldn't he just let someone do something for him for once, she wanted to know. To let her.

The same thought largely occupied Logan's mind. He'd been grateful Max hadn't questioned him about his sudden change in their regular dinnertime. He was aware that she would reject his offer if she knew the motivations behind it. The truth was he knew she had nowhere to go, and he suspected she might find it nice to just kick back and relax while he cooked.

He'd been right. She'd fallen asleep on his couch before dinner was ready; the first time she'd slept in two weeks and voraciously ate the late-night super he'd prepared three hours later.

As he'd placed the blanket over her, Logan found himself gently pushing back a strand of her hair, a nearly overwhelming surge of tenderness threatening his composure.

He wanted many things at that moment and seeing Max here, letting her guard down, made them seem almost possible. She was so beautiful and strong, he thought, but maybe he could still give her something she didn't have.

He'd left it at that, retreating to the kitchen and away from the emotions she stimulated in him.

XXXXXXX

The stay at Herbal's had ended shortly thereafter, when his well-meaning girlfriend had gone into Max's things to do her laundry.

One question about tryptophan later, and Max was packing up to go Sketchy's.

That had been a different quagmire, Logan thought, and her stay there even shorter.

Sketchy didn't live by himself. Instead, he shared a large apartment, with a rotating cast of eight guys who left and returned to the perennial bachelor pad as their various relationships waned in and out.

There were six guys staying there the night Max came over. Most were harmless, stoner horn-dogs like Sketchy who gave him approving fist bumps and nods when they'd caught sight of Max.

She'd nearly ditched the entire experience, but was somewhat touched by the way they'd offered her a semi-private cubicle – they were located in what was once an office building – with a semi-clean couch. It was obviously the best "room" for guests and Max figured it couldn't be that bad.

She'd been wrong.

XXX

Shutting off the shower nozzle with more force than was necessary, Max had moodily stomped into the kitchen. She'd been almost annoyed when Logan had been sleeping when she'd come in, forcing her to wait to tell him her story.

"What is it with men?" Max had demanded when she finally found him, coffee mug half-way to his lips. "Why does the whole impossible gender think they can just be led around by their hormones acting like every girl they meet is just a step away from jumping into bed with them."

"Good morning to you too," Logan had stated, definitely unready for this type of discussion. And given the givens, he wasn't all too sure he wanted to ever have this kind of conversation with Max, especially when she was mostly naked.

"It's like they think a few rightly phrased pick-up lines and a few beers is all they need to have us swooning. What? Like I'm just going to hear some guy comment on my "assets" and be like – hey let's bang the gong."

Logan removed his glasses and began to rub the bridge of his nose, hoping to release the tension that was forming there.

"I mean it's not like I can't understand the whole biological imperative thing. I mean Manticore…" Max paused, realizing who she was speaking to.

Logan didn't miss the dropped sentence despite his morning stupor, immediately pressing: "Manticore what?"

Max shrugged, angry at herself for almost slipping. "I just had a rough day. I mean some guy I was delivering a package to answered the door in a towel and offered to open it for me; some kids on a street corner were giving me the whole 'yo baby' routine; and then I get back to Sketchy's only to have one of his buddies come in to my room in the middle of the night – when I'm pretending to sleep – and touch my ass!"

Max pressed forward, making sure Logan was well off the Manticore path before she stopped.

"I should have kicked his ass right then, but it was all casual at first, like he was trying to wake me so I just let it go – faked waking up so he'd get the idea, only to have him ask me if I was in the mood for some fun."

"And you said?" Logan questioned.

Max smirked. "Let's just say he'll be more specific about the word "fun" next time he hits on some girl."

"Was it painful?"

"I'm not sure if you'd classify hanging from top of a flag pole in your underwear as painful, but it started to rain when I left – so he's going to be communing with nature. At least the flag pole is right out front of their apartment, so it's likely someone will find him fairly soon."

Logan tried not to chuckle in appreciation. He really did hate it when Max did something that displayed her physical strength. But really the image was too humorous, and Max was too incensed not to see the absurdity in the situation.

Max was far too infuriated by the scenario and exhausted from her multiple nights without sleep to agree with Logan's response and had sharply retorted to his laughter, "What? The idea of some guy manhandling me is funny to you?"

That had snapped Logan out of his playful mood, and with only half a cup of coffee he hadn't responded normally. Looking at her intently, he'd stated in a low possessive voice, "No. Hearing about other men coming on to you isn't exactly what I'd call a good time."

They'd both paused after that, letting the words hang in the air.

Surprisingly, it was Logan who recovered first, "Course, hearing about one dumb enough to actually touch you contains its own inevitable humor."

Max smiled, attempting to play along: "Not exactly what he bargained for."

"I don't think you're ever what people bargain for, Max." Logan asserted.

He'd always known she must have gotten a lot of attention from men, but the confirmation of it left him feeling oddly assertive in his words.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Depends on what the person in question is looking for; but in cases where the person isn't an ass – it's a good thing."

"Nice to know."

"So where to now?" He inquired, going through the mental check list of her friends.

"Kendra's." she'd firmly replied.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kendra's love nest provided a much more comfortable location for Max, and for the next few days, Logan was regaled with only a few complaints of Walter's skimpy outfits and his unfortunate attempts at humor.

On the third day of her stay with Kendra and nearly a month into her apartment search, she came bouncing into his kitchen, obviously in a good mood.

"Morning, Max."

"Good morning," she'd cheerfully replied. There something contagious about her, as if she couldn't wait to tell him a good story.

"You seem chipper," he offered, thankful for the stemming cup of sanity in his hands.

That appeared to be the opening she was looking for. Smiling at him and leaning in as if to whisper a secret, she happily murmured, "I brought you a present."

Her fresh scent from the recent shower flowed over him, making Logan temporarily forget to respond. Finally realizing she was waiting, he managed to stammer: "Hmm… what?"

"Check the bag." She pushed, pointing to the small paper bag that Logan had conscientiously avoided.

Giving her a small smile in anticipation, he wheeled over and opened it. Inside were beautiful heirloom tomatoes, the kind that had been difficult to locate even before the pulse.

"Wow. Nice. Where did you get these?" Logan asked, genuinely pleased with the gift. He'd never tell her, but receiving her small food tokens always made his day.

"Market near Pike Place had them." She answered, delighted by his response.

Realizing something, Logan couldn't help but question her: "But Max, the markets don't even open for another hour."

She'd blushed a bit then, but had feigned nonchalance as she answered: "Shipments come in around 4 a.m. I know a guy who always lets me check out his stuff early, usually gives a good price too."

The smile she received from Logan could only be described as dazzling.

"So that's your secret."

"One of them," she couldn't help but smile back.

"I've always wondered what you do to keep those night hours occupied."

"Maybe you should come along sometime – see for yourself."

"Well I'm afraid if you expect me to scramble up to the top of the Space Needle, I'll have to pass."

"What if I promise to be good?"

"Then what's the fun in that?" Logan dared to ask.

There was something about the mornings that was making them come slowly unglued.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The event that broke the model and thrust them into utter chaos came five days after that.

Logan had spent the night chasing down information on a local bad-guy, when Max had come barreling in – for once, not even bothering to close the door silently.

She immediately sought him out, first heading to the kitchen, then his office. The look on her face was unclassifiable, somewhere between pure disgust and complete incredulity. She didn't bother to say anything, but once she had met his eyes had headed into the living room.

Logan immediately wheeled after her, aware she was about to regale some story that involved Kendra, Walter and sex.

When she had perched herself on the back of his couch and he had come to sit directly in front of her: she let out one deep shudder that rocked her entire frame and let out a loud "Ugh!"

"Were you treated to another Walter and Kendra seduction session or did you actually hear something this time?" Logan asked, well acquainted by now with her former roommate's sexual antics.

"Worse." Max tragically stated.

"What's worse? You didn't walk in on something did you… that would be pretty bad."

"Worse."

Logan let the subject rest for a moment, waiting for Max to explain.

"I always thought Kendra was being a little overdramatic when she said they could get busy for twelve hours straight, banging the gong."

"And you learned differently?" Logan asked, finding this to be more humorous and far less tragic than Max had led him to believe.

"I learned that after five hours of loud, raucous sex, Walter might decide that Kendra and him should ask her friend to join in the fun – while wearing nothing but his purple g-string."

Max's continued look of horror, now put into context, was too much for Logan. He burst out laughing. It was a full body laugh, the likes of which Max had never seen on him. His shoulders shook, tears of laughter began to stream down his face and Max's indignant expression only seemed to spur him on.

When he made no move to stop, Max leapt up in anger, intent on storming out of his place and getting a good satisfying slam from the door. Fortunately, Logan recognized the move and, while continuing to chuckle heartily, wheeled over to grab her hand.

"I'm sorry Max." he managed, letting his laughter subside into a wide smile. "But I know what Walter looks like from the cable hack I did when you were locked in Langford. Remember? And that, coupled with your expression and the look I know you must have given him when he said that…"

He broke into another small peel of laughter that caused a small, unavoidable grin to emerge on Max's face, who slowly began realize what a comical scene that would present to the outside observer.

Finally, she let her own grin grow wider while Logan's green eyes beamed into hers, enjoying the moment. It was in this spirit, with the infectious mirth and early morning sunshine streaming in that Logan made his proposal.

"So Max. You willing to give it a try here? I promise no inappropriate propositions, no grabby- handed friends, and no jealous girlfriends."

Maybe it was the twinkle in his eyes, or the promise of no jealous girlfriends that did it, but Max shrugged her shoulders in agreement.

"Might as well. But let's be clear about one thing. I'm not going to turn into your round-the-clock Eyes Only recruit."

"As long as we have that clear," Logan agreed.

XXXXXXXXX

Thank you for the reviews; they are always much appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

A big, huge thanks to Lisa, who mediated the fight when my story and I were about to come to blows :-)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The light-hearted contentment that had followed Logan's offer and Max's acceptance had quickly dissipated for both parties.

As the day progressed and each had gone their separate ways, both Max and Logan found themselves berating themselves with eerily similar questions: What were they thinking? Should they attempted to get out of it? What would this mean for their relationship?

Each knew better than to get so close to the other, having a world of experience at evading and escaping. Both had secrets to keep, issues to avoid, and feelings to run from. And how, each asked his or her self, could they do that with the other so close?

When there was no place to hide, where does one go to regroup?

XXXXXXXXXXX

**Avoidance**

Logan stared at the contents of one of the higher cupboards in his kitchen, taking stalk of the variety of unsavory and unfortunate convenience foods that met his gaze. Least offensive of the items present were a jar of peanut butter that didn't require refrigeration and one small beat up sauce pan. Taking another item in his hand, Logan grimaced as he examined a packet of noodles that promised to cook in under three minutes and required only the sodium-laden contents of one "flavor pack" for seasoning.

These foreign, objectionable items in this previously unused cupboard and the clothing contained in one drawer of dresser in the guest bedroom were the only signs that Max now resided in Logan's penthouse. Since she had moved in nearly a week ago, Logan had seen less of his elusive chimera than any time in their relationship other than their unfortunate fallout during the Bronck case. His leftovers remained uneaten; his mornings were spent alone; and his shower remained suspiciously quiet as she often waited until the dead of night to come back and avail herself of that luxury. Although he was sure her disappearing act was a well-meant effort not to encroach in his space, Logan was still frustrated by her absence.

Leave it to Max, he thought, to make you miss her when she'd just moved into your home.

Well it would never do, Logan decided, there was no way any guest of his was going subsist on stale breakfast cereal and powdered cheese products. One way or another, Max was going to relax and enjoy a few comfortable days or weeks in Fogle Towers under his attentive gaze.

XXXX

**Later that same night…**

The only light visible in Logan's apartment was the light of the computer monitors surrounding the cyber journalist. His eyes rapidly shifted through the myriad of information displayed on the screen as he looked for links in his most recent case.

The darken room was a product of his single-minded focus on the case at hand, which had distracted him since the early afternoon from more mundane activities like turning on a light switch. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, and if he'd stopped to consider it, Logan would have readily admitted it wouldn't be the last.

Finally, he found what he was looking for and leaned back in his chair in triumph, just now registering the stiffness in his shoulders and the barely perceptible sound of his gas-stove being lit.

Wheeling himself quickly into the dark kitchen, Logan saw nothing but the blue-flame from the upper-right burner, yet he still confidently flicked on the light switch and began to speak, even before he caught sight of her sitting on far side of the island.

"A little late for dinner, don't you think Max."

She smiled sheepishly at being caught and softly responded: "Sorry, I didn't disturb you, did I?"

His look could only be described as wry as he wheeled closer to the stove, noting the boiling noodles from his earlier exploration. "Since when has that been a concern?" he asked, teasing her.

She shrugged in response, and so he pressed, "What is this stuff anyway?"

"Noodle meal thingy I bought over in the international district. Figured I'd make use of my recently acquired culinary skill of boiling water. They're not bad. Wanna try?" She inquired, pulling the under-cooked noodles from the stove, before mixing the powdered contents of the dubious packet and offering a fork- full to Logan, who did his best not to look repulsed by the procedure.

Because he knew it would please her and make her lighten-up, he took proffered fork and tasted it. As expected, the over-seasoned contents clashed with his refined palate, making him struggle to keep a neutral expression as he hastily swallowed it.

"Mmm…" he tried, well aware as he glanced up at her grinning face that the look of distaste hadn't escaped her. "They taste… as I'd expect. Anyway, I made some noodles of my own yesterday. Wanna try?"

Max perked up at the suggestion, but quickly shook her head. "Nah. Might as well eat what I have."

Her response and the reasons for it weren't lost of him and crossing his arms in from of his chest, Logan gave Max a steady look before firmly stating: "Now far be it for me to give an X5 unrestrained access to my refrigerator, but Max you do realize that you're my all-time favorite person to feed, and that I'm taking your rejection of my dinners as quite the blow to the ego."

She gave him a full-smile, but answered: "And far be it for me to reject one of your culinary-miracles, but you know, I don't expect it every night."

"I realize that." he responded, drawing out the different syllables. "But I'd at least like to enjoy the same amount of dinner-company that I did pre-noodle, meal thingy."

They looked at each other for a moment, conveying the real meaning behind their exchange. Acquiescing to his unspoken appeal, Max nodded before sashaying her way over to the fridge: "Well in that case…" she trailed off, pulling out a container of the mentioned meal and quickly pulling out a fork to dig in.

He smiled at her words of appreciation and knew that the avoidance portion of her stay was over. For better or worse, they were both in this…

XXXXX

**Nocturnal Activities**

Logan woke from his sleep, parched. He hated getting up at night, but often found it necessary for one reason or another. Groggily, he levered himself out of bed and into his waiting chair, making sure to grab a t-shirt before leaving the relative safety of his room. As he made his way toward the kitchen, he noticed the single floor lamp that radiated from his living room.

Curious, he wheeled into the entrance, to see an absorbed Max curled up in his armchair, reading a book. The sight was touching, and Logan couldn't resist wheeling a bit farther into the room to get the attention of the oblivious reader.

"What are you reading?" he asked softly, hoping not to startle her.

She didn't jump, but her eyes reflected a slight surprise at his presence. "Oh, hey. I didn't wake you did I? I could turn off the lamp."

"No. I just have a tendency to wake up at night, usually remembering something I have to do."

She smiled at the image of Seattle's watch-dog waking up mid-dream to send some important e-mail to an informant.

"_Gulliver's Travels_," she responded to his early question.

"Hmm… the satiric Jonathan Swift."

"I noticed it on your shelf in the office. Hope you don't mind."

"I've got a whole library on the shelves in my bedroom, if you're interested."

"Maybe." Max replied, briefly wondering if she was responding to the offer of books or the one to see his bedroom. Shaking herself out of the thought she asked, "So... satiric? What's his dealio?" She was curious about the story behind the story that she had sensed.

Logan spent the next half an hour describing the relationship between the Irish and English during this period, loving the way Max's curiosity prodded her questions and her quick mind made joking association to Manticore. When Logan finally wheeled back to his bedroom, drink of water forgotten, he thought that just maybe this living situation wouldn't be so difficult to handle after all.

He should have known better.

XXXXXXXXXX

Logan's false sense of security lasted for exactly four hours into the next morning.

He had woken late, but had found a note from Max saying she was bringing a surprise for breakfast and would be back later than usual. Therefore, he had just begun his first cup of coffee when she had bounced back into his apartment triumphantly bandying about with some eggs she had scored.

"Oliver said they'd be in around 6, so I waited and sure enough… fresh eggs!" She grinned, her enthusiasm contagious.

The omelets had tasted better than any that Logan could remember, and their conversation over Lilliput and _Seattle Times_ headlines was the most engaging conversation he could remember having at 7:30.

If Max had been doing nothing more than eating, taking a shower, and leaving everything would have remained in that idyllic state, but she wasn't. It was her day off and she was staying put.

So when Logan began his motor exercises, Max had been there to offer to lend a hand in substitution for Bling, who had the morning off. Unable to find a way to deter her, he had been forced to let her help.

In theory, Logan had hated everything about this experience: the attention to his unresponsive limbs, the sight of her hands on his flesh in a way that could be described as clinical, the necessity of accepting help from anyone, especially her. But the reality was far more mundane.

As he had lifted himself into onto his workout bench, Max had begun a particularly long and detailed rendition of her conversation with Original Cindy from a few nights ago. Apparently the formerly crazy-in-love lesbian duo had hit some rough patches as Chrisette's jealous nature continued to assert itself. With vivid description, Max told him about the scene that had taken place once Chrisette had arrived at Crash late, catching Original Cindy chatting with a female friend, one who (like Max) was straight. Apparently, there had been a scene.

Logan grunted his amusement at her tale, breathing heavily.

"Max, I hate to interrupt this soap opera of the young and lesbian… but… aah… do you have any idea what number set we're on?"

"Set three, with eight reps completed on your left leg," she quickly responded, smiling charmingly at him.

She had been multi-tasking the entire time he realized, and belatedly he also understood her carefully crafted strategy to overcome his discomfort by focusing his attention on her story. It had worked, he thought, as she turned back to his right leg - he hadn't been worrying about his physical short-comings.

"So what's Cindy going to do about it?" he asked, willingly playing along.

"I don't know, she's pretty stumped, which is actually kind of ironic considering she's usually the one dropping all sorts of wisdom on me about my love life," Max answered, as her hand slid up his right thigh for a different motion exercise. "For a lesbian, she's usually awfully interested in encouraging heterosexual action."

Temporarily forgetting how to speak, Logan swallowed harshly, never removing his eyes from the small-hand on his leg.

Life had suddenly become much less comfortable.

XXXXX

**Same day, Late night…**

Logan couldn't sleep as various images of past few weeks filtered through his mind, all with a distinctly myopic focus. He saw Max coming in from a run; Max teasing him over breakfast; Max bending over his shoulder during Eyes Only research; Max laughing as he cooked supper. She was permeating his life, his existence, and leaving him nowhere to conceal himself. It should have been driving him crazy, and it was, but not in the way he had anticipated.

Instead of finding himself annoyed and irritated by her presence, Logan found himself liking it to a degree that he considered dangerous.

Today's exercise session was a good example. He'd always dreaded the moments Max came face-to-face with his disability, thinking it would remind him that he was no long an able-bodied man, but it hadn't been like that. The session had been productive and fun, a combination he often found in association with Max. She didn't make him feel like less of man; she reminded him that he was one. And that, Logan knew, was damn dangerous.

As the weeks progressed, it was becoming more and more difficult to hide behind his knowledge or computer or culinary skill when things became too close. He found himself desiring more intimacy, more closeness, and was beginning to forget the myriad of reasons that was a bad idea.

Deciding that he wasn't going to get anywhere tossing and turning, Logan shifted himself out of bed with the intention of going to his computer room to work until he dropped from exhaustion.

He never made it there. Noticing the light on in his living room, he found himself being drawn there like a moth to flame. She had gone to Crash that night, but had evidently returned rather than riding her motorcycle or heading to the Space Needle. For some reason, Logan felt a small sense of victory at that fact.

Instead, she was there, cuddled on his love-seat, dressed in pajama pants and a tank top with her hair piled on top her head in a sloppy bun. The sight made his heart pound harder in his chest. Something about her, dressed like this, did more for him than any of her tighter, more revealing outfits.

He couldn't resist invading her private reverie and moved closer, deciding it was the domesticity and implicit contentment of the image that was forcing him to fight off thoughts of wrapping her in his arms and holding her close.

He didn't make it far into the room before she looked up having sensed his presence this time. She smiled benignly at him, apparently pleased with his approach.

"Hey, come here and tell me what you think," Max softly called to him, patting the seat beside her. It was an irresistible offer to Logan's overworked imagination.

As he settled in, Max showed him the passage, pointing to the line in question, but Logan shook his head in response.

"I don't remember the context. Read it to me," he urged.

His request set the pattern for the night as Max read parts of her favorite passages. The rhythmic sound of her voice soothed Logan, lulling his conscious mind into a peaceful state of rest as, for once, he let the debate within him to subside.

Contentedly, he pillowed his head on his hand, his elbow resting on the back of the couch simply watching her. He didn't think; he just allowed her voice and presence to wash over him. One errant curl came undone from her bun, slightly blocking his view. Unthinkingly, he reached out and slowly tucked it behind her ear, caressing her face slightly as he did.

She remained perfectly still through the process, never allowing a shudder to escape. But it wasn't easy.

She turned to him, searching his eyes before smiling lightly. Max noted his faraway look and the lounging posture of his body. He wouldn't be awake for much longer, she thought.

Doggedly, she kept reading, refusing to let her voice hitch as Logan fingers occasionally wrapped various curls around his long, agile fingers, either pushing them behind her ear or tucking them back into her bun. Briefly, she thought he was trying to seduce her, but one look out of the corner of her eye revealed the true state of things; he was nearly asleep, acting only on the impulse of a dreamlike moment.

She kept reading, enjoying the feeling of having him so close until his fingers stopped stroking her curls and returned to rest back on his lap, his body finally beginning to give in to the pull of exhaustion.

In a voice that didn't quite sound like her own, much softer and attitude free, she nudged him: "You look like you're ready for bed."

"Mmm… yeah I'm beat." He stretched slightly as he spoke, causing his t-shirt to ride up a few precious inches.

"Yeah. Me too." Max answered, yawning slightly, and attempting to ignore the sight of his exposed stomach. "Guess I've finally hit the end of my genetically engineered battery life."

"That's a first," Logan murmured, for now content with his fate. "Night, Max."

XXXXXXX

**Early Morning…**

Max always felt the most restless during the few hours before the rest of the world woke up. Something about the night sky turning from ink black to navy blue made her want to shout to the rest of the world that it was time to get up…Seattle's own genetically enhanced rooster.

The thought of herself, crowing to the sun on the top of the Space Needle, made her laugh and she wondered whether Logan would find it amusing.

She looked at the clock one more time. It was 4:30, a good two hours before she could get in the shower and wake him up and another four before she had to leave for work. Deciding she needed to spend that time doing something physical, Max settled on taking a run out in the park near Logan's apartment building. Impatiently, she waited for the elevator to make it to the Penthouse, surprised that it was taking this long.

Finally it dinged open only to reveal a confused Mrs. Moreno who asked: "Is this the lobby?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Moreno. No, this is the top floor; I'm afraid I must have halted the downward progress of the elevator, but I'm headed down now." Max explained as she got in, worried about the woman's state of mind to be on an elevator at this hour.

She smiled at the old woman, fond of her for reasons that transcended the woman herself. Max saw her as something of a watchful mother-figure; one who had unknowingly protected Logan from himself when she hadn't been able to. She would never forget that, and so she engaged the woman in the type of polite tête-à-tête she normally avoided.

"How are you doing today? Feeling okay?"

"Oh, I'm alright, my dear. These old bones just need to go for a short walk in the park."

"I was headed to do the same, would you like some company."

"I'd love some. Not many people up at this hour, but then again I've always been an early riser. When I was your age, I hardly slept."

So, Max thought, Mrs. Moreno realized that it was especially early, that was a good sign.

"I know the feeling. But this is not the usual hour most woman would want to walk out on the own," Max insinuated gently, worried about the woman's safety if this was the daily thing.

Mrs. Moreno responded with a twitter, before saying to Max: "I could say the same to you."

"Fair enough," Max replied as she held the door open for the woman who walked with a surprisingly spry step.

The first few minutes of their walk was conducted in silence, before the old woman unexpectedly asked: "So are you and Logan shacking up, now?"

Max couldn't have been more shocked if Original Cindy had said she was switching teams, and she actually stopped dead in her tracks.

The woman chuckled, amused with the startled look on the young woman's face. "Oh dearie, you'd think I'd never been young. I happened to have been in my early twenties during the sixties – the decade of love, for your information. And so I have a notion or two what happens when two attractive young people spend as much time together as you two."

Max smiled to herself, she highly doubted Mrs. Moreno could really guess what actually went on in Logan Eyes Only Cale's apartment. They continued walking.

"We're not like that." Max answered.

"Oh, like what, my dear? You two aren't sleeping together or you aren't exclusive?" Mrs. Moreno asked with that slight shake in her voice. Max really couldn't wait to tell Logan about this; it was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing to ever happen to her – including being made in a lab.

When Max didn't respond immediately, Mrs. Moreno stated: "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. You have to understand I don't see much that's interesting these days, so I wonder about my neighbors. Call it the prerogative of the old."

"It's okay. We're friends, _just_ friends."

"Ahh… well like I always say: everything can change in an instant."

Max silently agreed, thinking of the moment she had dropped into Logan Cale's apartment.

"So you were a hippie, huh?" Max asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from topic of Logan and her.

"My, yes! Oh, the summer '67 was something to remember…" the woman began.

The conversation had continued throughout the park and up the elevator; it had continued as Mrs. Moreno had invited her in and served Max tea. The old woman had a seemingly unending supply of outrageous stories to tell that she appeared excited to share.

As the story continued, Max came to a conclusion; she had always thought that the kind-hearted woman's absent-mindedness and predilection for getting off on the wrong floor were the result of her age, but now thought that the elderly woman must have a long-history of flighty behavior – the Kendra of her group of friends.

It was sort of nice to see.

Max had always looked at life as brutal and short – the product of war and destruction. However, through Mrs. Moreno's eyes she got to see something else – a time of peace, the summer of love, the fulfillment of long years.

It was a good way to begin the morning.

XXXXXXX

**Two day later… **

Out of sheer self-preservation Logan had buried himself in his laptop, distracting himself with his latest Eyes Only case.

Max had been prancing about the apartment for the past hour, in a general state of undress. She was wearing what she often did in the mornings, his red robe, but tonight as she got ready to go clubbing, Logan found the garment unbearably alluring. As she flounced from the living room to the kitchen to grab an apple and begin munching, he struggled to banish the image of pulling her in front of him and quickly undoing the one – long ago deciphering it as a single - measly knot that separated her from his gaze. His shifted uncomfortably; well aware that two months ago he would never have been subjected to this extended a period of torture.

Finally, with a sigh of relief, he heard the buzzer from lobby signaling the arrival of a guest. Original Cindy was coming so she and Max could get ready to go out together. It was, according to Max, a sign of independence to her clingy girlfriend.

To Logan at the moment, however, her arrival meant Max would soon be safely dressed and out of temptation's way. He heard:

"Hey, Boo! Boy, has Original Cindy been missing you. I can't wait to hit town with both of us looking fine, getting our drink on!"

"Hey, OC, I got my potential outfits laid out, wanna tell what you like?"

"Sure, Sugar, we'll have you dolled up in no time…"

The door mercifully shut on the two women and Logan returned to the task at hand, firmly strangling his daydreams of Max.

When the two women emerged half an hour later, Logan was securely buried in his work as he chased down a lead on a local crime boss. He was making good headway, and so he barely registered the two as they sat down in the living room with him and began working on Max's nails. Original Cindy's voice was a bit difficult to ignore, but Logan found it possible as his hands flew among the different keys, dominating this cyber world in a way only he knew how. Therefore, it took a few long moments to realize the voices had stopped and seemed to be waiting in expectation.

Owlishly Logan looked up, noticing that both women were staring at him, waiting. Original Cindy looked annoyed, but Max's face carried a soft, secretive smile, as if she found his absorption endearing.

"Huh?" he asked.

"I asked," Original Cindy repeated with attitude. "How do you think I should style Max's hair for maximum hotness."

Belatedly, Logan noticed the Max's hair was still damp from her earlier shower and without needing to consider, he mindlessly replied: "The soft, spiral curls."

Thinking nothing more of it, Logan returned to his screen. Only to realize a few moments later that an awkward pause had settled over the apartment. Looking up again, he saw Original Cindy's face spread in a huge, knowing grin, and Max's face with the slightest flush to it, looking at him questioningly.

Only then did Logan realize his mistake. Most men do not give replies to such questions, but respond in vague, incoherent ways. At least a man who hadn't spent many nights contemplating the desire to run his hands through the hair in question didn't.

Original Cindy broke the silence by stating, "_Soft_ and curly it is. Let's go, Boo."

He caught one more glimpse of them before they left. Max stopped in the doorway to his office and asked if he was sure he didn't want to go.

In another time, Logan Cale would have reconsidered; the very sight of her sent a pulse of want through him. She reminded him of the way she looked when she dropped into his penthouse and life all those months ago - dressed in black, with curly hair and a healthy complexion, beautiful and mysterious.

He knew that other clubbers would be dressed in colorful, flashy clothes, all hoping to stand out, but that it would be her, with her unbelievable beauty and darkness that would draw the most eyes. It was that knowledge which would have propelled him to go with her in pre-accident, to stake his claim like any other cave-man, albeit in a much subtler way. But tonight, he simply wished her goodbye, even telling her to have fun.

After she left, Logan considered turning his search from henchmen to apartments. Max had asked him to take up the search a few weeks ago, but at present neither of them bothered to keep tabs on how it was going. Tonight, however, was different. He was tired of continually being bombarded with images of what he couldn't have, having her so close but just beyond his research.

Nevertheless, Logan decided to stick with henchmen.

XXXX

**Same night, around 2 a.m.…**

Just as he was finishing up his hack, Max walked through the front door. Surprised at how early it was he couldn't help but check in to see what was up.

"Hey?" he stated, finding her in the kitchen looking through the refrigerator.

"Hey," she responded without turning, "Do we got anything to eat?"

"Not much, I think you demolished most of dinner already."

She huffed and turned her attention to the cabinets, pawing through her own supply.

"I'm surprised you didn't make a night of it," Logan continued, watching her settle on something with the word cheese in the title but for some reason was on a shelf in the closet.

"Yeah well, Original Cindy got a call from Chrisette about halfway through the night, which put a damper on her mood and…" as she spoke, Max had taken out her small saucepan and was about to open a packet that Logan began to suspect would contain the cheese portion of the title. At the first signs of powdery orange, he determined it was time to intervene.

"You're not really going to eat that."

Max couldn't help but smile at the way Logan's horrified eyes were staring at the saucepan. "I'm not just gonna look at it."

"You know," Logan replied, turning his attention back to Max. "Back in my day of pub crawls we used a different variety of greasy food items to sop up the alcohol. Cheesy fries, kabobs, even the occasional pizza…"

"Logan Cale eating foods described as greasy… who'd of thunk it." Max teased.

"Every cuisine has its own place and time. But seriously, I had one particular dish that I use to whip up that contained pasta, bacon, and a cheese/egg sauce mixture that was pretty outstanding."

"Hmm… any chance of said dish making a reappearance."

"Perhaps." he stated, already reaching into the cupboard. "So… tell me about Original Cindy…"

They took their usual places – Max perched on the island, watching Logan work. Logan situated near the stove, listening to her stories. This was almost always a scene of contentment for the two, but tonight it was particularly electric as the atmosphere was permeated with good humor and lively banter.

Maybe the reason for Logan was because she'd come home to him, sharing her late night meal with him rather than some random guy. Maybe the reason for Max was because she'd had Logan to come home to, rather than an empty apartment or an occupied crusader. Either way, they stayed up late before Logan decided he needed to head to bed.

"Sleeping tonight?" he asked, wishing like hell he could persuade her to come with him. He was too exhausted for his thoughts to go beyond sleep, but just the pleasure of holding was more than enough.

"Nah. Not tired." She replied, sitting down in her reading spot. "Figured I'd finish up my book and then head down to Mrs. Moreno's."

The two women's friendship delighted Logan; one more layer of Max that he hadn't seen coming, but suited her when it was revealed.

"You two are becoming quite the buddies." He gave her a smile that distracted Max for a second, and she controlled her impulse not hug him. There was something about Logan at night that was softer, more approachable.

"Well, she does this whole tea and biscuits thing."

"Hmm… does that mean I shouldn't make breakfast," he asked, unreasonably pleased with the image of Max and Mrs. Moreno chatting over tea.

"Not if you value your well-being, Cale."

"In that case, I'll see you in the morning, Max…"

XXXXXXX

**Mrs. Moreno's apartment…**

"So this guy wasn't your husband?" Max curiously asked.

"Oh my, no. He was way before my husband. To tell you the truth, my husband was kind of a stick in the mud. There is no way he could have kept my interest when I was younger," Mrs. Moreno shared in an over-disclosure kind of way that Max had become accustomed to. "I'm talking about the _one_. You know, the tragic love affair of my young life. The one that got away. Anyway, we met during this open-air concert…"

Max listened enthralled by the soap opera-like life of the woman before her. Her lost love; her continued strength; her faith during the pulse – it was moving and heartening.

It did them both good to share.

XXXXXXX

**A few nights later…**

As Max sat down in her reading spot she noticed the book placed on the coffee table. It was, Max knew, Logan's subtle recommendation of reading material. Smiling at his thoughtfulness, Max happily picked up the novel and examined the cover; another Irish author she noted, before beginning to read.

Three hours later she set the book down and stretched. It hadn't been a novel really, more like a collection of short stories that related in tone and mood. They hadn't exactly been depressing – more melancholy, as they painted their pictures of the world.

It was very Logan Cale, Max decided as she turned her attention toward the dark hallway leading to his room. In particular, the final tale, one of lost love that reminded her of Mrs. Moreno's stories, resonated with her as most things that were bitter-sweet did. She wanted to discuss her impressions with Logan and she considered his need for sleep tonight to be particularly annoying.

Maybe if she gave him a few minutes, Max reasoned, looking at the clock. It read 3:17 a.m. Usually, if he was going to awake it would be within the first two hours of going to bed and he had been down for nearly four.

Sighing, she reminded herself it wasn't like she needed Logan to keep herself entertained. She'd been doing the night-thing long before taking up residence with him. Besides… it wasn't that long until the morning, she could wait.

Unconsciously, Max began to pace. It wasn't working, she quickly realized. She needed to do something or she was going to do something stupid.

Max contemplated taking out her bike and heading to the Space Needle, her go-to night-time activity, but quickly dismissed that idea. Last time she'd gone, she'd found herself examining and reexamining her relationship with Logan: the way they flirted in the mornings, relaxed together in the evenings, and ignored both those things the rest of the time. It was getting more and more difficult to ignore though, especially the way they damn near cuddled some nights. Even now, she couldn't quite block out the way his fingers threaded through her curls, gently separating an individual section to twist it around his digits, making her scalp tingle and her body come alive in the process.

No, Max thought, she really didn't need to think about that, or how she wished he'd get his butt out of bed so she could experience rather than analyze their confusing relationship.

Again, in an effort to distract herself, she ran through other possibilities, which were also rejected: The docks wouldn't have shipments in for another hour, and nothing good ever came in on Wednesdays anyway; the bars were closed and her friends tucked into bed; the books were dangerously placed in Logan's bedroom, where Max had learned one night to her discomfort that he slept shirtless; the refrigerator was empty of any good leftovers and Mrs. Moreno wouldn't be awake until 4:30.

Max fingers tapped the surface of the table, radiating her annoyance and boredom. Periods like this never resulted in anything positive.

Gradually, an idea began to wiggle in the back of her mind as she followed a train of thought that had originated with Mrs. Moreno. Max could envision Mrs. Moreno's apartment number beside other doors with apartment numbers that ended with a door labeled Penthouse. Through that door was a box labeled _private_. It wasn't good to label things like that, she thought. It always stirred up the feline DNA, and after all it was night, and no one was around, and …. NO! she couldn't do that. Well…. Technically speaking she _could_ do it; she just shouldn't. And if Logan would just wake up she wouldn't be tempted to…

XXX

Half an hour later, on the pretext that she was going to get some clothes, Max made her way to Logan's storage closet.

Her palms itched, and she already felt immensely guilty. She should stop now, she thought, before she did something stupid. But she didn't.

The second Max switched from walking with her normal attitude to moving with the care and stealth she reserved for the most dangerous missions, she knew she was going to do it. She was going to violate Logan's trust and friendship and take a small peak into something he would label private. Theoretically, that was something she had been trying to do since they had met – this was just a much more tangible method.

Besides… there probably wouldn't be anything worthwhile in that box anyway…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thank you for the reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

My grateful thanks for Lisa who ripped and cut through the dense indistinguishable commas usage of my story – making sense where there was none, and dealing with all the fluff, of which there was much… And doing it all with style and wit :-)

A/N: To those who have reviewed previous chapters, my very sincere thanks. I find that when I post something I'm sort of like a kid on Christmas morning who keeps checking her e-mail in delighted anticipation. So to those of you who have been reading along without comment, it would be lovely to hear from you, sort of like giving me a present!

P.S. One more chapter left.

XXXXXX

That morning when the water went on Logan was determined to ignore it. He was going to sleep in, enjoy some nice shut-eye and put off feeding his painfully gorgeous house guest for today. Yep, that was what he was going to do. If only his side wasn't so uncomfortable and the light streaming in wasn't quite so bright. Well…he'd stay put anyway, even though she was getting out, putting on the freshly laundered robe, and finding out there wasn't any coffee on.

He wondered if she'd come looking for him. He wondered if she'd miss him, and wondered if he was trying to make her miss him. He also wondered if she'd make some coffee. It wasn't like just because he wasn't up she couldn't. She probably wouldn't though, he thought, she'd see it as an imposition, which of course it wasn't, and…

Damn it all to hell! Logan decided to get up.

XXXXXX

Moodily, Max swung her legs back and forth from her perch on the island, watching through the corner of her eye as Logan transferred the pancake onto a plate stacked with them. She hated how perfect that stack was, a picture perfect little stack. Picture perfect like many of the things in his life.

Logan didn't say anything, having deduced earlier (after Max had stomped into the kitchen with only one terse "Hey") that she wasn't in a good mood. He wasn't about to take on the fiery obstacle course that was angry Max without first fortifying himself with enough caffeine.

Besides, Logan wasn't in a very good mood himself. He'd had another one of what he was beginning to call his insanity dreams. Ones where Max either came into his room late at night for a book only to end up in his bed, or the ones involving that red torture devise Max currently had on.

As he focused on creating the perfect size and stack of pancake as a diversion, Logan decided he hated his former robe. He hated the way it gaped in the front and cinched around the waste; he even disliked its length, which refused to reach to the floor. It was a taunting, teasing robe, he concluded, that shouldn't be worn. Nope, as he caught a glimpse of tempting flesh being exposed as Max twisted to grab her pancakes, Logan decided he should consider burning it and buying her a snow suit.

Max was lost in her thoughts – her photographic memory acting as a sort of prison she was unable to escape from. The box had contained an arsenal of things from Logan's pre-Max life. It had contained a stack of journals, which Max had carefully lifted out and set aside, for now rejecting the idea of violating his privacy to that extent; it also contained a degree from Yale, which Max had happily stared at; and most significantly it contained a stack of photo albums that showed a number of figures and players in Logan's life that Max had never dreamed of.

It was those albums to which she devoted her night time snooping.

First, she had looked at the pictures from his baby-book – its light-blue coloring a dead give away to the contents. She smiled over birthdays, traced the likeness of his features in his parents, and even gave and undignified chuckle at his tub shots and sailor suits, fervently wishing she could tease him about them. Diligently she had worked through the stack of albums - noting with amusement the number of blue-blazers and gelled comb-overs that showed up.

The albums seemed to be stacked in chronological order, but, nevertheless, Max was still taken unawares by the wedding album that suddenly loomed darkly in front of her.

The color of the album was snow-white and its purpose was emblazoned on the cover in gold, along with the date. Max's soldier instincts kicked in, telling her to escape and evade, but her human instincts that had grown in strength over the past 10 years held her in place.

It was just a stupid photo album anyway, she reminded herself. It's not like she didn't know Logan had been married. Hell, Max had even met the woman.

So why, she asked herself, did the innocuous book in her hands, suddenly feel like a serpent that she wanted to drop and run away from? Self-preservation and curiosity warred, with the latter finally winning out.

Max had seen a few of these bitches in the past, so she figured she knew what to expect – obligatory kissing picture and all. She would just casually flip through, she reasoned, and then go on to the next album. There was no reason to linger.

At first, she did okay. The album began with the former couple's engagement picture – both of them seated at what looked like a fancy restaurant, smiling at the camera. Superficially, Logan appeared largely the same - he looked younger, of course, and his hair was tamer, longer, and swept to the side, and he didn't wear glasses, but that appeared to be it. However, there was something intangibly different about him, something about his aura or presence that seemed… off. To Max's discerning glance, the difference seemed primarily to be in his gaze; his beautiful green eyes reflected a more relaxed, less forceful fire than she was use to seeing - it wasn't that the intensity wasn't there, it just wasn't the defining characteristic behind his gaze. The analysis inexplicably saddened Max, who quickly focused her attention of the woman beside him.

Valerie, unlike Logan, looked significantly different. Her hair was a lighter, more nature shade of red, and it was wavy – but whether from artifice or nature Max couldn't tell. Her face was also plumper – not fatter - but softer and rounder, befitting a young lady who still hadn't developed the lean, angular look of later womanhood. She appeared, in short, more natural: her skin was glowing, her make-up light, her hair glossy – she had none of the sophistication and manicured qualities of her later self. Partly, Max guessed, because hadn't had time to become accustomed to the luxuries afforded by the Cale fortune, and partly because she hadn't yet put a strain on her health through heavy drinking.

Deciding she had spent enough time analyzing the picture, Max quickly turned the page. The wedding pictures were extraordinarily ordinary. Max had only been to one wedding in person, but she was already able to recognize the trope of different bridal shots: Bride on steps, bride with bridesmaids, bride with parents…

Everything involved in the ceremony seemed standard and cloyingly matchy - matchy. Even the men's ties were in the lavender color that was reflected in the decorations and accessories and bridesmaids' dresses. It annoyed her. In particular, Max couldn't believe that Logan Cale had agreed to wear the decidedly un-dapper purple vest/tie combo with grey tux. He must really have loved Valerie, Max sarcastically thought with a sardonic smile, because even sweaty, working out Logan managed to look stylish. Well, at least it wasn't a white tux.

A few pages later, and the smirk was wiped off Max's face. It wasn't the posed pictures of toasts, cake cutting, or kisses that did it. It was one, seemingly miscellaneous photo that the photographer must have included.

It was a close up of the couple; Valerie was laughing at something off camera as Logan smiled down at her – nothing particularly sinister to the common observer. However, to Max, it was the look in Logan's eyes – the tender, loving adoration of his gaze that made Max's heart contract. Without sarcasm this time, she realized he had loved this woman.

And with that, Max had snapped the album shut, tossed the contents back into the treacherous container and went up to take a long shower, her heart festering with some unidentified mixture of emotions that manifested itself in annoyance and derision, particularly at his suit.

Looking at Logan now, Max was having a difficult time refraining from comment. She wanted to say something along the lines of 'Someone must have been pretty whipped to wear lavender' or 'Hey Logan, I guess all the money in the world couldn't buy Valerie taste'. The crassness of her thoughts made Max cringe slightly, but still her multi-processing brain searched for a roundabout way to give vent to her turning emotions.

Being the master strategist that she was, she eventually found a way.

Keeping her eyes glued to the pancakes, Max began: "So get this, I was at Crash the other night while Original Cindy and Chrisette were having another one of their fights, when all of a sudden this guy approaches me with this total tough ass attitude..."

At first, Logan had been confused by the sudden shift in her moods; she had gone from being stonily quiet to telling him another Crash story. Then, he was confused about the subject of her conversation – what exactly was notable about some guy hitting on Max at Crash? It certainly wasn't a topic of their usual banter.

"… After a few standard pickup lines, and a flexing of his muscles and tattoos, he got into a discussion with himself about his motorcycle and how great it was. Now, the guy's bike wasn't bad, but it certainly doesn't have as much kick as my baby. I mean anyone knows that a Ninja has way more horsepower than…"

Max knew pretty early on that it wasn't a very good approach – certainly not the type of rear door strategy that Lydecker would have been proud of her for – but she marched on, determined to get to the real point.

"I mean, come on. A Nomad isn't even in the same class as a Ninja. If that wasn't bad enough, the guy starts in on how much weight he can bench press, how he recently beat up this Steel head – you know the usual alpha-male, chest-pounding, tough guy ritual mating dance they do to try and get a girl into bed. But here's the really funny part – guy's wearing _a lavender shirt_. I mean what kind of self-respecting man wears that, unless he's totally whipped by his girlfriend. Like me or any down female is going to hit it with some guy that wears lavender."

Outwardly, Logan's face made no change other than a slight pause in his chewing. He listened to the story politely and choked down his bite of breakfast. He even calmly picked up and took a large sip of coffee before glancing over at her.

He wasn't sure how it had happened, but Logan was fairly certain that he had just surpassed Original Cindy as Max's best girlfriend. That sort of pointless, rambling exposition against the male use of lavender was the sort of thing women shared over manicures and coffee – not the sort of thing you usually share with a man who you were interested in getting naked with.

Logan ironically noted the contrast between their trains of thought. Max was critiquing the finer points of picking women up at a bar, while Logan was heatedly wondering what her skin would taste like.

"Guess he didn't get the memo on how to impress you," Logan dryly noted.

"Guess not," Max murmured, annoyed that Logan hadn't given her any sort of lead in to talk about Valerie. Her more rational side chose that moment to chastise her about her tactics – after all, his wedding attire probably wasn't something he sat around thinking about.

"So what are you up to this morning?" Max asked, attempting a more normal conversation.

Logan had an answer, but forgot it as he watched a drop of water that had originated from hair slid down her throat and into the red robe that encased the valley of her breasts.

"Apparently… nothing."

XXXXXXX

**Reflections**

All morning at Jam Pony Max had been distracted. She'd barely paid attention to Original Cindy's tirade on Chrisette's cleaning habits, being able to use her series of stock responses to keep her friend appeased. Instead, she found herself reliving the photograph over and over again, until she finally gave herself permission to analyze her emotional state.

She didn't know why, but Max felt betrayed by Logan and wanted some sort of explanation for his past behavior. That was irrational, she knew; he hadn't even known her when he was married. And he certainly didn't have to explain his life choices to her, but still, Max wanted to know some things.

For example, she wanted to know how they met, and when they fell in love, and _why_ he loved Valerie. She wanted to know if he still loved her and if Valerie was his first love. Max kept recalling Logan's comment after Diamond died - that he didn't think anyone ever got over their first love. It hadn't bothered her at the time – but now Max couldn't help but wonder who that woman was for him, and how often Logan thought of her.

This basket case of person Max was turning into wasn't her. She needed to regain control, and as she knew from past experience – knowledge was power. So tonight, she decided, she was going to take a stroll down Logan's lyrical pen-scratchings and do the recon that was seemingly necessary.

Whether he knew it or not, Logan was going to give her answers.

XXXX

Logan was turning into a hormonal basket case, and he was sick of it.

Dreaming of Max, watching her, wanting her closer– had been driving him to distraction for weeks, pushing him to a brink, and this morning had been the final straw.

Being turned into her personal sounding board on the male sex had been a wakeup call, and the Logan of a few months ago, the Logan who had existed for over 31 years before the accident – was reasserting himself in defense. That Logan, the one who had played Max in front of the mirror attempting to secure her protection for Lauren and her little daughter, who had rejected high society and his family in favor of journalism, who had begun Eyes Only out of a sense of civic duty and innate moral obligation –was a man who went after what he wanted, and what he wanted was the best.

Logan had never been a womanizer. Not solely because he had a deep dislike of the practice, but because he simply didn't wish to get involved with most of the women he met. It was like his appreciation of art. Logan found himself drawn to paintings that weren't just beautiful, but interesting, layered and deep. The same principle held true for music and cooking, his preference being for bolder colors, stronger movements, and richer flavors.

These were apt metaphors for the women who had come through his life. Lana had been pretty, determined, and passionate, a world-class musician and a force that intimidated those less secure in their masculinity. Daphne hadn't been the most beautiful woman at Yale, but she had been strong and interesting, an amazing artist and person. Valerie, who had come after the pulse and the death of his beloved mother, had been uniquely beautiful and fragile; she had simultaneously fulfilled Logan's desire for both a family and a cause. He had learned, of course, that fixing a problem was much easier than fixing a person. Valerie had needed to self-destruct; she had also needed to put herself back together again without his help. And Logan, in consequence, had learned to direct his impulses toward the faceless masses, to project the need outward rather than inward.

There had been a few blips along the way, women who had seemed interesting but ended up tiresome – like false works of genius or copies of originals. And ultimately, he'd grown cynical.

That was the man Max had encountered that night. When Logan saw her standing there in the light of his rifle, his inner eye had told him she was a one of kind masterpiece, an exquisite work of art. But he'd needed to make sure. If she'd told him she liked the Bast statue because it had been shiny, or the equivalent of that, he would have quietly and efficiently, if humanely, turned her over building security and forgotten about her. But she hadn't.

She'd been more, much more. But by the time Logan had realized it his confidence had, quite literally, been taken out from under him. He'd endured repressing his feelings as his admiration and desire for her had grown. He'd restrained his own wants, because she deserved the best of what he had to offer, not just the leftovers.

But now he was done pretending. As noble as his intentions sounded when voiced in the dark, they lost credibility in the light of what their relationship was during the day. He would win her by right of want, because he simply craved her more than anybody else because he was able to recognize her value.

He just couldn't do it while she lived with him.

With a humorless laugh he realized his quandary. Logan had finally admitted to himself that he wanted to fight for and win Max, wheelchair and all, only to find that new obstacles presented themselves. Specifically, her current dependence on him for shelter. As long as she lived with him, any advances he made would be inappropriate and potentially opportunistic. He'd made her a promise when she'd agreed to move in; he guaranteed "no inappropriate propositions, no grabby- handed friends, and no jealous girlfriends."

The words were now burned in Logan's memory, particularly the first clause. What had begun as light-hearted banter, he now saw as a sacred promise. As long as she lived under his root he would need to maintain a respectful distance.

Briefly, and not for the first time, Logan toyed with the idea of seeking an apartment for Max, perhaps even paying off a landlord to say the rent was within her reach as he made up the rest on the side. It would be a mistake though, Logan knew that. As much as he wanted to do something for her, he respected her wishes and intelligence enough to know it wouldn't end well. No, if he was going to find her an apartment it was going to have to be on her own terms. Then, once she moved out, he'd be able to approach her as he liked.

Which raised another, darker concern. If Max left, Logan knew he might never have her this close again. He'd be giving up one form of torture, a form that also included moments of bliss, like their nights spent reading or their morning spent bantering – for an unmitigated, constant ache. It was a high stakes gamble.

He didn't want her to go, but Logan couldn't move forward if she stayed. In short, it was problem he didn't have the answer for. Sighing to himself, Logan resigned himself to another dream-filled night.

XXXXXXXX

**Late night, storage closet…**

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of Logan's storage closet, Max was surrounded by Logan's journals which she had divided into three categories – pre, post, and current Valerie. She began with the latter, figuring she could at least do Logan the courtesy of avoiding the journals of his teen years.

From the moment she cracked the spine, Max found herself lost in Logan's world. The journals weren't diaries; they didn't give explicit retellings of his days. They were reflections into his deeper thoughts and emotions – introspection Logan had called it – and he didn't waste time providing the context. Therefore, Max had no idea what the date or circumstances were of Valerie and Logan's first meeting, but she could sense when fragments and images of the woman began to turn up in his thoughts.

Logan's words from that period, rather than focusing on his personal life, seemed obsessed with the world surrounding him for which he had an overpowering sense of responsibility. There was story after story of the people he met or the images he'd seen. The accounts were always fairly straightforward, with no emotional reflection. They seemed almost cool or apathetic, but as Max quickly caught on, these stories hid the raw, passionate empathy that Logan actually felt at the sight of things like a young father begging for work, or a former heiress scrounging in a trash bin for food, or the baseball hall of fame being shipped from Cooperstown.

And all these emotions would eventually emerge, as if bubbling out of his soul, in the fragmented poems or bits of verse that were littered throughout the text. The mechanical retellings that would seem indifferent to others were, Max knew, only covers for the deep lacerations that these events left on Logan's heart.

The introduction of Valerie presence seemed to alter that slightly; Logan's thoughts which seemed dark and lonely began to have a certain lightness to them as she slipped in. The many allusions to his mother which permeated his verse began to give way to other allusions of a beautiful, gentle woman who made him smile, even as the world made him cry.

He loved Valerie, Max learned, because of her lack of artifice, her naïveté, and her humor. When all he could see was darkness, she radiated light. She was his opposite, his foil. He trudged through pain and anger and heart-breaking beauty – she floated on joy, indifference, and fleeting fun. Valerie wasn't wholly shallow; she had a deep well of dark experiences behind her, an abusive father, a lost best friend, and history of addictions. And Logan wasn't utterly severe; he had a sense of humor and hunger for life that exceeded most, and he seemed to love to share that with her.

As a pair, Max recognized, they had originally complemented one another, or so it seemed anyway. His passages were full of events that he experienced through Valerie's eyes - her first drink of fine wine; her first trip to California; her first ride on a airplane. She was a provincial person who was expanding through Logan. He was a worldly individual who got to be innocent again through her.

Logan hadn't thought it was all good though. Early on, he seemed to have innately recognized Valerie's addictive nature. He noticed the way she clung to him as a life-line with both fists, and expressed it through his words. A short story recounting a benefit they had attended, when Valerie had refused to leave the raffle station, buying ticket after ticket in desperation to win, weren't recollected for his amusement. Nor were mentions of her frequent over the top purchases; they were there to hint at some defect in her makeup, something hidden below the surface that Logan wasn't ignorant to.

He even acknowledged his own unhealthy fascination with her weakness – for he had known that about himself even then – his words capturing how desperately he wanted to fix her. One poem in particular resonated in Max's mind, the refrain in it had vacillated ever so slightly from striving to fix the world, to attempting fixing her – the woman and the world interchangeable in his own mind. Logan seemed to see her as his avenue of direct reaction against the pulse. His articles in the free-press weren't enough; he needed to do more. And he would begin with her.

Despite this flaw, Max conceded that they might have made it if it weren't for one thing. The foundation of their relationship – the heart of why their differences worked together – hinged on Valerie's naivety, which unfortunately, was an ephemeral state. She was hungry for the knowledge Logan gave her when it was new and exotic. But as trips to the opera and art gallery became old hat – and Valerie's own natural inclinations didn't follow along those lines – Logan ceased to be her drug of choice. Valerie had looked for new ways to satisfy her addiction, her craving for peace. Max saw it, read it between the lines, but doubted Logan did. All he saw was the boredom in her eyes, the same eyes that looked at him with such adoration, and the look of indifference she gave him at his plans to regain their closeness.

His poems were littered with references to blood-shot eyes, shattering glass, incoherent speech, but in all of Logan's three journals that spanned that period, there were only two straight forward recounts of Valerie's drunken antics. The first was early in their marriage, when at another benefit hosted at Seattle's top gallery Valerie had gotten drunk on a large quantity of champagne and embarrassed Logan in front of Nathan Herrero. He never said the word embarrassed, not even in his reflections could he be so open, but Max knew what he meant and how deeply the situation and its implications affected him.

The second time was, Max distinguished, the moment Logan realized his marriage couldn't be saved. Everything about the event seemed fairly mundane to someone who had been around an alcoholic, which Max had. Valerie's annoyance at being sober quickly gave way, as more alcohol was consumed, to a more euphoric state of bliss and incoherence, as it probably had on many nights before. At the time, Logan had been ignoring her, writing an article for the Free Press that was going to bring down some small group of drug-runners. Valerie had begun to pester him for attention – simultaneously trying to seduce him and get him to go out of their house. The small sigh Logan had released, signaling his frustration, had set Valerie off on a verbal tirade. Logan didn't rise to the bait of the verbal abuse, didn't react or grow defensive, didn't let his emotions get the best of him – but when Valerie had made a comment, a comment that Logan had refused to write down for posterity, about his mother he had given her one piercing look, noting her puffy face and glassy eyes and had walked out the door. The click of the door, he had noted, gave a ring of finality.

That was it, Max knew. Although they hadn't broken up directly after that it was still the beginning of the end; when Logan Cale walked out the door that night, he had effectively walked out on his marriage.

In the midst of all this, Logan seemed to become more and more preoccupied with the state of the world, particularly Seattle, and the lack of anyone doing anything about it. Unlike those around him, he couldn't see it at as some else's job, and Max knew he was berating his own inaction. The final passage in the third journal was a recollection of the day they closed the doors on the Pacific Free Press. In an uncharacteristic monologue, Logan had swore to do more about it than just accept the reality. He wasn't willing to become an active participant in making this worse by tolerating the status quo. He was going to figure out a way to make things better…

Finally, Max closed the journal and looked around the room, noting that it was completely still. She was thankful that fate hadn't thrown her a curve ball and exposed her act of treachery. Even though the hallway to the storage closet was long and prone to echoes, Max was fairly certain she wouldn't have heard a thing if someone had come to check on something.

She had been too busy drowning in Logan – in his experiences, his world. Even now her fingers twitched to dive into the post-Valerie journals that still remained unexamined and learn more of his inner self. She had never felt so simultaneously close to him and so unworthy of that closeness. Reading the journals had been a violation, perhaps an unforgivable one, but they had given Max an understanding of the man who took up so much space in her world.

Many things previously hidden were now laid out to her. The way his mind worked, his defense mechanism, even the way to reach him beyond his barriers – well, at least during that period – opened up to Max's vision. She saw, without a doubt, how similar they were to one another. Where Valerie was his opposite, she, Max Guevara, genetically engineered super-soldier, was his likeness. The journals would have been useless to the other woman; Valerie could have read all of them and she would never have been able to crack the code they were written in; Max had understood the language innately.

It made Max angry to think that a woman who would never have been able to appreciate the profoundness of his spirit had been the subject of hundreds of his poems; while she, jaded and broken though she was, had been the subject of only one. One short, dark, beautiful poem that she had cherished and had made her feel free.

Well at least only one poem that she knew of…

Which begged the question: if there were more poems about her, would it matter since there had been the dozens of Valerie ones before her? In other words, since Valerie had come first, did that negate Max if she came after?

Max felt ill-equipped to deal with the questions her snooping had raised.

XXXXXXXXX

Max found herself outside Mrs. Moreno's door waiting for the minutes to tick away until 4:30. At 4:30 she could knock… so she waited.

At 4:27 the door swung open, and the old woman gave her a knowing smile.

They had sat at the small laminate table as Max fingered the thin handle to her delicate tea-cup. She had been distracted during Mrs. Moreno's chatter, but the old woman didn't seem to mind and uncharacteristically, she had fallen silent – giving Max an encouraging smile.

It took a moment, but eventually Max began, "I was wondering. You know how you have had several different lovers… men, in your life…?"

The old woman laughed, both at the words and at Max's obvious nervousness. "Yes dear, I'm aware of that fact."

"Well… did you love, you know, more than one of them?"

"I loved all of them in a unique way," the woman smiled.

"No, I mean were you ever _really_ in love with more than one of them, or was your first love sort of your best?" Max asked, unable to meet her eyes.

"Not the type of question I'd have expected from you, dear. You seem much too… cynical, to care for the past of your lovers."

"I don't…" Max began, striving for her usual attitude, but abruptly decided against it. For this one woman, she could let her guard down.

At her pause, Mrs. Moreno continued: "But then I bet you get that a lot, people who forget how young you really are. That you've never experienced things like falling in love before… The answer to your question, my dear, is yes, I loved more than one. First love, sometimes even second and third love, tends to be foolish, the type of chicanery that results from deep feelings without context; passion without dispassion. It's wonderful and heady, and for a very few, lasting. I feel sorry for your generation, my dear, because many of you have never been able to experience that type of frivolity. Your world has been shaped by the neediness and darkness of the Pulse. Much of the love of those early days stemmed from security and need, and much of that was lasting and much of it wasn't. But either way, love isn't lightening…"

Max shook her head, unsure of how this sagacious old woman had replaced the flighty hippie she knew. Then again, maybe that was exactly what the latter's wisdom was reserved for.

"So you've loved deeply more than once?" Max sought to confirm, needing to hear it again.

"The capacity for passionate love, my dear, depends more on the individual than the situation or the number of people who have come before. My question to you would be: does the person in question have the ability to care deeply? If so, than you have your answer."

Max pondered that while she stirred her tea.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was mid-afternoon by the time Max went back to the penthouse. As usual, the only sound came from the computer room, where Logan's elegant fingers were flying over the key board attempting to gain information of some sort.

"Hey." she stated, leaning against the entranceway.

He smiled as he looked up at her, "Hey, yourself. I missed you last night. I got up to send an e-mail and you weren't in your usual spot. Were you joy-riding around Seattle?"

"Not exactly… So, what are you doing here? I thought you had some matinee performance down at the music hall you were going to."

Logan smiled sheepishly, knowing he had made a big deal about his desire to go to the event: "Yeah well, you remember that case I was working on?"

"The gang who was using kids as drug-runners?"

"That's the one. Well that one orphaned kid who you pulled out of the operation…"

"Johnny." Max supplied.

"Yeah, well he'd never been to anything like it, and his new foster parents were going so…" Logan shrugged, letting her reach the obvious conclusion.

"So you gave him your ticket." Max finished for him, continuing to look at him in way that Logan found unnerving.

"Anyway… I've got a lead on these weapons dealers so…" he didn't finish, noting the way Max's eyes didn't break from him, but continued on with an intensity that made him flush.

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, trying to distract himself from the desperate want Max's look was causing him. He needed her to look away, so he could keep control. This wasn't morning when a slip could be brushed off, or even night when his exhaustion kept him from doing something irrevocable. This was in the light of unforgiving day.

"Need something else?" he finally snapped, the irritated tone resulting from the tension that his control cost him.

"Nah." Max replied before swiftly and softly bending down to place the lightest kiss on his temple. He didn't have time to respond before she quietly told him, "late," and strolled out of the room.

Logan's heart beat a rapid tattoo against his chest. He wasn't sure why she'd done that, but he knew he wanted her to do it again, and soon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next few days were spent in a kind of quasi-reality.

Max was unconsciously attempting to make Logan fall for her, alternating between suggestive banter and soft looks, and Logan was doing his best to keep his hormones under control, a feat for which he was miserably failing as nearly every interaction with Max had him dreaming up some flirtatious or tender action of hers.

He too was trying not to cross the line, but found himself unintentionally wooing her. The solicitous aspect of his nature, which he'd always ruthlessly suppressed around her, began to seep out. It was the fruition of a long process – when once he'd only offered her a warm blanket when she was cold, he now offered warming touches. One memorable, cold Seattle night it had degenerated into him warming and massaging her feet as she read to him from her book.

He could have sworn she'd smiled at him in encouragement as he touched her, giving him permission to move his hands in a more provocative way over her calves and knees. His fatigue hadn't saved him then; he'd become instantly and exceedingly aroused and had had to retreat quickly into his room and away from his live-in temptress.

Max was disappointed in his rapid departure, but also encouraged by the heat the seemed to blaze in his eyes before he'd been able to cover it. God, she wanted him to touch her.

Who would have bowed first remained uncertain as "Collapse" and "Control" continued on in an unceasing pattern between the two. It might have gone on for much longer, both having extraordinary reserves of strength, had not the outside world intervened.

XXXXXXXXXX


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So here's the last bit, which contains modified versions of two of Shywriter's other wish list requests. I should also probably mention that she stipulated that there be no **_**major **_**character deaths. So, I have **_**technically**_** not violated that request. Okay, I hope you enjoy…**

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On a mundane Sunday afternoon, Logan wheeled back into his apartment, relieved to find Max curled up on his couch reading. She smiled at him, as she always did now, and his heart leapt in response. He only wished he had something better to reward that unspoken greeting with then the news he had to give.

He didn't have to say it; she could tell from him face that something was wrong, and so she righted herself on the couch, moving to a much more formal, controlled sitting position.

"Max…" Logan began, direct as he always was with her, "the super just contacted me; it seems that he was checking on Mrs. Moreno's stove this morning when he found her unconscious. He called for an ambulance…but she was already gone."

Max sat completely still, unsure of what she felt.

Finally she stated, "I just talk to her yesterday… I didn't go and see her this morning. I…"

"There is nothing you could have done. She died instantly."

Max nodded, tears that didn't fall filled her eyes. She needed to get out, to hide, to repress. As if hearing her thoughts, Logan attempted to intervene.

"Max…"

"I'm going for a ride. I'll be back later."

"Max…" he attempted again, grabbing on to her arm as she attempted to walk past him to the door. She paused briefly, her swimming brown eyes meeting his caring green. "Let me…" he pleaded.

"I can't, I have to go," she interrupted, pulling away from him. She needed to breath, to think, and she couldn't do that with Logan there. He made her want to just curl up in his arms, to lose herself in his comfort – and she couldn't.

Max rode for a long time that day, finally ending up on the Space Needle when it was dark enough to escape notice. She stayed there until late, looking for the peace that usually came. When it finally did, it was only partly ameliorative. Max knew Mrs. Moreno had lived a long, fulfilling life; that she, of all people, wouldn't want Max to mourn. Nevertheless, Max had experienced so much loss in her short life that the knowledge only gave her partial comfort.

She still had so much she wanted to learn from the joyful old woman, and now she never could. It just wasn't fair. Why did everyone she cared about leave her?

XXX

As she turned the lock to Logan's penthouse, Max noted with a twinge of disappointment that the lights were out. She had run from him earlier, and it seems that he hadn't bothered to wait for her to run back, something she could hardly blame him for. Almost silently she moved to sit in the living room, to her reading spot to think.

He was there. She saw him, of course, her night vision picked him up immediately, but what she didn't expect was that he would be able to sense her too. He was staring out the window when she entered, with his journal on his lap and Max couldn't help but wonder what it contained.

As she had debated whether or not to let her presence be known, Logan had suddenly stated: "I was worried about you."

Max flinched slightly. She wasn't use to being the one discovered; when she hid, she stayed hidden. She wanted to ask him how he knew she was there, but didn't.

"Just went for a ride to clear my head," her voice was steady, aloof even.

Logan had turned in his chair to face the doorway, but whether he could actually see her or not Max wasn't sure of. Either way, there was no mistaking him when he firmly demanded: "Come here."

Any other man she would have laughed at, any other man she would have disobeyed, but the intensity of his voice and the darkness of the room were compelling forces and Max took a few tentative steps toward him. He didn't seem to expect her to go the whole way, and Max could distinguish the small smile at her partial compliance. He filled the rest of the way himself, wheeling forward until he stood in front of her.

"Sit with me."

This time his voice was like a soft caress, and without waiting for her response, Logan went over to the couch and transferred himself onto it. Max wasn't sure whether she felt relieved that he had moved to the wider space of the couch or disappointed that she wouldn't be forced to sit in his lap in the chair. Either way, Max felt like she shouldn't just leave him hanging over there by himself, and so after a moment's hesitation she complied.

She sat on the middle cushion close enough to feel his body heat but far enough away so they didn't touch. He didn't attempt to speak or issue any more requests, he just sat there with her in the dark.

Eventually, his fingers lightly brushed her cheek. There were no tears there, and Max noticed his face registered no surprise at that. Softly, the fingers caressed the face, eventually winding back into her hair where he gently massaged her scalp. In the light, it would have been far too intimate of a gesture, but here where only Max could see, it was acceptable.

She knew what he was doing, offering comfort in a physical space where he had a disadvantage. It gave Max the authority, the power, and at the same time made it her obligation not to leave him. When his hand finally reached the back of her head and exerted the smallest amount of pressure, she went to him, wrapping her limbs around his frame, pillowing her head against his shoulder. Logan did the same, wrapping his arms around her form, resting his lips against her hair, and drawing wide soothing circles on her back with the palm of his hand.

It was both a full-body search for comfort and a deep surrender for both of them. They weren't just mourning for Mrs. Moreno, but for a host of other painful events that they normally were forced to ignore, not just to themselves, but in one another.

It was meant chastely, the necessity of the dark was for their defense barriers not to add to the highly erotic feeling of their bodies touching so intimately.

Nevertheless, their breath grew harsh and rapid in the dark from the contact, which they both scrupulously ignored. Just this soothing, comforting gesture was almost too much after months of intense wanting. But Logan was able to pull back, he kept control even as Max buried her lips into the crook of his neck, next to his pulse; she was the one hurting, and so he would be the one to maintain restraint.

They eventually fell asleep like that, neither wanting to break away from this monumental collapse in control before they had to. It wasn't until the morning, at the rapping on the door that Max finally untangled herself from Logan to answer it.

She had already taken the envelope addressed to her from the suited man, opened it, and began to read before Logan had sleepily asked, "What was that?"

Scanning a second time through the letter, Max finally replied, "Mrs. Moreno's lawyer. Apparently, he needs to meet with me."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Five days later…**

Max wandered through the apartment appraising the various decorations and conveniences with a disinterested eye. It was almost like she was surveying someone else's space, certainly not her own brand new apartment in Seattle's exclusive Sector 11.

She didn't seem like someone who'd just scored a rent-free new digs in the very building of her favorite cyber-journalist. Maybe it was shock, or perhaps reverence for the dead, or some mixture of deep and elusive emotions that stemmed from her years living in gray at Manticore, but Max still couldn't believe that after knowing Mrs. Moreno for such a short period of time that the old woman had left her her home.

The will had been changed after their first morning tea together, when Max had unthinkingly told the woman her reason for staying with Logan. The capricious nature of the woman's action didn't strike Max as out of character, but the extent of her generosity did. How anybody could make such a huge 

decision for someone they barely knew – a decision that would cause her funeral services to be much more modest since there wouldn't have the price of apartment to contribute – made Max's head spin.

The woman had only left a few lines of explanation in her will: "Dear Max, in a world that can change in an instant, everyone needs their own space to call home. Just call this gesture my spiritual repayment to the summer of love."

Max had to laugh at the woman's veiled reference to her free-spirited life style; apparently, she was hoping to inspire a legacy. The woman would have had much better luck with either Kendra or Original Cindy.

Speaking of which, the one should be along shortly.

Max had originally assumed that she wouldn't be able to accept the apartment. Renting on the sly was one thing, but an apartment for which she had a signed contract could be a very dangerous thing when you had Manticore on your tail.

It was Logan who had disabused her of that thought.

"_Max… I know you've never had the misfortune of waving around money, but it has its own innate power behind it. What do you think is going to be harder to track down – an apartment where a slum-lord could easily be bribed or intimidated, or an up-town building where things like the name on the lease can easily be changed and building security is paid for discretion?"_

"_So I guess it wasn't just the penthouse view you were after."_

"_No, not totally. If you want, I'll make your name untraceable to the apartment."_

"_Well I guess kicking it here wouldn't be too rough. Plus, I hear the neighbors aren't half bad." _

She'd given him a wide smile, but Logan had only returned her a half one, which had pretty much been the pattern for the last few days. Something was bothering him, and Max had been unable to nail down what it was exactly.

Max was abruptly jolted for her thoughts when a buzz from down below signaled the arrival of a guest.

"Yes?" she called into the building's telecom system, just for the fun of it.

The attitude on the other line was unmistaken: "What Miss Thing, you too high and mighty to come down and get your friend? Buzz me in before I lay the smack down on these guards."

Max laughed in appreciation and quickly buzzed Original Cindy up.

"Damn girl… it looks like the inside of a greenhouse went and exploded in your apartment. Look at all these floral patterns, gives Original Cindy hay fever just standing here."

Max smiled at her friend, "The woman who lived here had a thing for flowers, she self-identified with them."

Cindy gave Max a closer look before asking: "You okay, sugar? This woman and you tight?"

"I'm okay. I mean it's a little weird to be packing her stuff away and getting to know her even more after she died, but yeah, it's all good. She had a long life."

"I'm happy to hear that, Boo. And I appreciate you letting me stay here for a while until I can find my own place. Original Cindy ain't no woman's bitch."

"Chrisette take the news okay?"

"Nah… girl acted like she so surprised. Did the whole baby I love you thing, and I was like well maybe if you hadn't threatened Sketchy with a beer bottle we'd have some room to talk, but that's just one step over the cliff for me, if you get my drift."

"Damn… jealous over Sketchy. What's next?"

"That's what I'm saying! If you can't trust Original Cindy with a male, then there are some serious boundary issues."

"So, how are you dealing with it?" Max questioned.

"I'm ariight. Besides I met this fine lickity chick when I was doing my runs today. She's meeting me at Crash later."

Max shook her head, "Wasting no time I see."

"So what about you, Boo? Any luck with roller boy? Figured a few weeks spent living with one another would create enough tension to set a fire to the place."

"We're all good, and we're not…" Max paused, thinking about the journals and what they meant. Original Cindy raised an eyebrow in expectation. "We're not like that… yet."

The eyebrow went a few centimeters higher. "But?" Original Cindy prodded.

"I'm working on it."

The two women looked at each other a moment. The grin on Original Cindy's face was irrepressible, but there was no taunting or I told you so when she spoke.

"Glad to hear your finally coming round, Boo. Need any advice?"

"Nah… I mean he's been different lately, ever since we found out about the apartment. And I'm not sure why."

"Maybe he's missing you."

"Maybe…but I haven't gone anywhere yet."

"Or maybe he's worried that with a sweet-ass apartment of your own, you're not going to be needing him no more." Original Cindy offered.

"That can't be…" Max paused.

"Hmmm. Seems to me the male gender needs to feel their worth, maybe you should let your squeeze know his."

"Thanks, OC."

"No problem. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to use your hot shower to begin my beautifying routine. I need to be fine tonight."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Max stared at the recipe book she'd borrowed from Logan's.

She had finally finished moving into her and Cindy's new place, and had invited him over for dinner to celebrate. The invitation, just like the other one, had fallen off her lips before she'd had time to contemplate the consequences. It meant she'd have to cook.

Before, the problem had been solved by Kendra's timely intervention. This time, she was on her own.

Initially, she thought about scoring a chicken, something she knew how to cook, but the market had been bare of them. Then, she'd considered trying to bribe OC, who'd for some unknown reason had bowed out with a cryptic comment. "There's no way I'm stepping between you are your goal, Boo."

So here Max Guevara was, cookbook in hand, trying to figure out the most simplistic recipe so that she wouldn't end up poisoning them. She figured there was no way Logan was going to trust her to cook again if she couldn't provide something decent, and then he'd feel obligated to always invite her over.

That thought made Max hesitate. She was sure Logan's recent aloofness was caused by his feelings of uselessness… and, if she didn't want him to feel useless then…

Abruptly, Max changed tactics. Instead, of looking for simplest recipe she began searching for the most complex, something that required patience and technique…

This was certainly going to be interesting.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Logan arrived at Max's apartment, having just taken the elevator one floor. It was an odd feeling, knowing that he was separated from her by only a floor, and yet also separated from her by a world of experiences.

Mrs. Moreno leaving Max her apartment should have been the best thing that could have happened to them, but now that Max was indeed leaving he found himself plagued by many of the old doubts. His plans to move their relationship forward had centered on providing her with small luxuries that she didn't have. Not just gourmet meals, but a continuation of their morning ritual with the offer of his shower. Now that she had a working stove and hot water tank, Logan felt some of his leverage slipping. He still had his library, but felt that since she was only a floor below, she could simply snatch a book and go back downstairs.

He wanted her, but wasn't sure what exactly he could give her as compensation for his own shortcomings. That was the issue on his mind when he knocked on her door, only to hear a distracted, "Come in!"

As he wheeled into her new apartment, noting the new paint which covered the walls and her and Cindy's stuff littered throughout the apartment, he couldn't help but smile at the way she was able to immediately and effectively take over whatever space she occupied. The place already felt like a home, despite her limited time here.

"In the kitchen!" she called.

And soon he found her, standing amidst an explosion of cooking items. "Hey. I'm hoping dinner will be ready in a few minutes… well I think it will be," Max offered, even as she turned to frown at the pot in front of her.

"What are we having?" Logan asked, hoping to keep the dubiousness of his voice. There was a smell emanating from one of the small pots on the stove that smelled, for lack of a more sophisticated word, burnt.

"Mushroom risotto with a balsamic vinegar reduction," Max dutifully repeated. She had actually tried her hardest to make the dish, knowing feigned failure wouldn't be convincing. Apparently, she hadn't needed to worry.

"Sounds great, how long have you been cooking?" Logan asked, well aware that it wasn't a dish for beginners.

"Don't know… maybe hour and a half, on and off." Max volunteered, as she picked up the bottle of wine Logan had brought, "Pre-pulse. Nice. Mind pouring me a glass?"

"On and off?" Logan inquired, as he opened the bottle.

"Yeah, it required so much time stirring I figured I break it up a little." Max responded, actually pretty proud of herself for that one. The recipe had called for constant stirring, which of course was boring, and so rather than attempting to speed it up as she normally would, Max had gone in spurts.

"Uh-huh." Logan murmured, handing her a glass and pouring one for himself.

"Damn thing's still liquidy though. Guess it wouldn't hurt if I…" Max stated as she poured more rice into the pot.

Internally Logan cringed, knowing beyond a doubt that the rice just added would never have a chance to soften. They sat in relative silence as Max fought with the dish, her eyes noting how Logan's kept glancing over at the smaller pot on the stove. Finally she snapped: "What? Why do you keep looking at the small pan? It's got the reduction sauce in it."

Logan cleared his throat, embarrassed that he been caught: "Uh, no reason," but when Max continued to glare at him, he finally offered meekly, "It smells like it's done."

"Of course it's done. It's been done for 45 minutes. I'm just keeping it warm… What?!" she asked, exasperated.

"It's just you have the heat up a bit too high and it might be burning."

So that was that smell, Max thought, as she transferred it off the hot burner. No doubt about it, she realized, originally syrupy mixture was now stuck to the bottom of the pan in a hard glob.

Despite knowing that she would probably screw up the meal, Max was having a difficult time accepting her failure. She hated Logan's sympathetic and knowing gaze and became determined to save what was left of the meal.

"Go sit," she grumbled. "I'll bring it out in a second."

XXX

The risotto resembled a bunch of rice dumped in a puddle of seasoned water, with the bottom formed into a gloppy crust. Some of the rice was crunchy, other bits were piles of mush – none of it resembled the delicious creamy mixture that Logan had made from time to time.

Max found herself scowling at the dish, as if it were an arch nemesis. She hated it; hated the way it mocked her lack of domestic abilities and seemed to suggest she was an inept little chimera. It made her feel pissy just looking at it.

Logan, sensing her mood, had tried to distract her with banter as he spooned the dish onto his plate. He had just paused his anecdote about the informant net, to take a bite of the dish, when a loud crunching noise filled the air. Bravely, Logan kept chewing, wishing he could distract Max from the inappropriate crackle that stemmed from the consistency of the dish.

Hastily he swallowed, so that he could reassure her of how good it was, but the small smile of reassurance he gave her only made Max bust out into a loud hoot of self-derisive laughter. The laughter was contagious, and before they knew it both were talking in animated voices over the horrendous dish, as Max tossed the pseudo-risotto into the trash can, and Logan did his best to soften the reduction.

"I don't know what happened; I thought I followed the directions," Max remarked.

"Uh… Max. You did use a short grain rice, right?"

"Sure. I mean the grains looked pretty short to me. I..." she stopped, noting Logan's amused smirk, "I guess there's a difference between rice grains?"

"Yeah," was all Logan managed, his smile wide and bright.

"Whatever." Max threw out, annoyed that she hadn't known that.

Shaking his head in mirthful enjoyment, Logan finally suggested: "So I guess that means I get to retain my job as head chef."

"You bet your ass, Cale," Max smiled at him, grateful to see that her plot had worked, even if it had caused her some minor discomfort.

"What do you say I whip us up something simple to celebrate your first night in your new place?" he proposed.

"We don't exactly have very much stuff…" Max warned.

"That's okay, I'll make due. And if your cupboard is totally bare, I happen to know a refrigerator we can raid," his eyes twinkling in amusement.

XXXX

Grilled cheese sandwiches in hand, Max chattered to Logan about the additions that Original Cindy and she were planning for the apartment. Although Mrs. Moreno's place was certainly much nicer and roomier than their previous apartment they'd had, it lacked the square footage and grandeur of the Penthouse. Which was fine by Max, who knew she could always pick the lock when the need for contemporary elegance struck. In the meantime, she was interested in creating a vibe of pure homey comfort.

"So Original Cindy's here for good?" Logan asked, happy to be with her when she was in such a good mood.

"Yep. She's kissed Chrisette goodbye and she's already hooking up with some new girl she met on one of her runs."

"Hmm… good to know OC hasn't lost her game. I was pretty sure she was totally whipped a few weeks ago," teased Logan.

"Says the man who wore a lavender tie and vest to his wedding," Max joked back.

It was the look on his face that made Max pause with the wine glass halfway to her lips and realize what she'd just said.

Although his voice was calm, there was no mistaking the strain behind it as he stated, "Funny. I don't remember leaving out any keepsakes of that day. Want to tell me how you found out that information?"

"Sensitive or something Logan?" Max attempted to kid, hoping to buy some more time as her mind raced to come up with an excuse.

"It is a rather emasculating color scheme from what I hear," he bantered back, his own mind doing a series of calculations trying to find the most plausible source of her info.

She saw the second he came to the only logical conclusion. She saw it in the way his eyes hardened and his pulse sped up in his agitation.

"Things are marked personal for a reason Max; not to serve for your personal amusement." His voice was harsh, but measured, and Max felt the sting that was behind the words.

She couldn't stand it, and so she jumped up to take the dishes off the table and into the kitchen. She knew he was running through a mental check-list of the things contained within the box, and that sooner or later he'd ask her about the journals. She hoped he'd just leave, that he'd get so angry he'd go charging out of her place. As bad as that would be it would be better than…

"So can I take this to mean you entertained yourself with my journals as well?" Logan demanded from the kitchen entrance.

Well… that.

This was so much worse than when they had a fight at his apartment, Max realized. Before when she felt trapped she could just storm out and go home. Here there was no escape; not unless she really wanted to look like a coward.

So, taking a deep breath, Max did what they so rarely did in their relationship… she told him truth.

"Not all of them." Max told him, beginning to scrub the plate in her hand as a distraction.

"What? Found yourself bored with my innermost thoughts?"

His sneer contained a palpable anger, and he wasn't backing down. Max had embarrassed him on a level that Logan wasn't sure was possible, and he damn well wanted an explanation.

Max visibly flinched under the attack and struggled to keep herself from getting emotional. In a small voice she answered: "No, found the answers I was looking for. Didn't want to pry further."

Logan eyed her angrily, but she refused to make eye contact. "And what exactly were the answers you were looking for, Max? What was so deep and dark that you apparently couldn't just ask me?" he demanded. "Look at me," he added, frustrated he couldn't read her.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his, and the depths of her embarrassment and contrition became perceptible. "I'm… sorry, Logan. I shouldn't have looked."

Her eyes did more to calm him than anything else could. She had probably thought of it as innocent fun, he thought quietly… just an amusing thing to do one night. Nevertheless, her actions had forfeited her right to hide from him, and so he pressed: "What answers, Max?"

"About Valerie," she finally answered, a blush suffusing her cheeks but a determined look in her eyes. Max Guevara backed down from no one.

"What about Valerie," Logan asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I wanted to know what went down between you two." Max responded.

He hadn't expected that, especially not from Max. Letting out a short humorless laugh, Logan wryly stated: "I could have saved you the trouble of looking, Max. I have no idea."

She shrugged. "That's okay, I do."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, still upset, but feeling his anger beginning to dissipate at his confusion. "Care to share?"

"Sure…. She's ordinary."

"Excuse me?"

"She's too regular Logan, too commonplace. There's no way she could get you."

Logan simply stared at her, daring her to explain herself. After a moment, Max capitulated, well aware that she owed it to him.

"It's like this, Logan - we always accuse men of having this stereo-type of the perfect female; the helpless, air-headed, big boob blond who's bubbly, fun, and not so bright."

"We do?" he dryly asked, amused despite himself.

But Max wasn't joking as she continued: "Society does. But the truth is women have just as big a stereo-type surrounding our male figures. Women want the fantasy too. They want the perennial bad boy with the heart of gold, who they'll be able to convert into the perfect boyfriend. The guy who is into one woman, passionately and totally; even though he's not so nice to the general population. Valerie's not evil, she's just ordinary... and stupid."

Logan stared at her, surprised by her articulate answer to this, and began to wonder just how long she'd been considering the issue.

Max didn't notice, and continued on her tirade: "She'd rather have the muscle-bound, bad-boy – the one who in real life will cheat on her, lie to her, manipulate her, the guy who's a dime and dozen – rather than the good guy – the one who's passionate about life and others, who loves but not with a single-minded possessiveness that blinds him to everything else. You're just too damn esoteric for the majority of women, Logan. Your humanity is perceived as a weakness, your passion for helping others as coldness toward individuals. She didn't understand you. She didn't know what to do with you. You weren't on her radar. He was; that guy she ended up with. She knew his type and how she was suppose to act with him."

Her cheeks were flushed red at this point, and it took Max all her well-trained focus to get the final part out. "Who and what you are… you're just too much for someone like her. You make her ashamed of herself, not intentionally, but by comparison. You force her to see what she isn't."

"And what isn't she?" Logan gently prodded, intelligent enough to see the undercurrents of this conversation.

Max shrugged, forcing herself to make her words unequivocally apply to Valerie: "She's weak, needy, and dependent. She wants adoration to fill up the hole… Anyway, that guy is average enough not to remind her of her own faults."

How they had ended up here, with Max making an impassioned manifesto on the breakdown of Logan's marriage was a mystery to them both. Embarrassed though he was by the circumstances and the subject, Logan was determined not to let this opportunity to slip by.

"And what are you, Max? Do you consider yourself ordinary?"

It was almost a rhetorical question; they both knew the answer to it.

Still, she responded, "Hardly."

Logan's mouth twitched up into a small smile before lightly teasing: "So can I take that to mean if someone like you had to choose between someone like him and someone like me…"

"Guess you'd have to sign me up for theLogan Cale brigade." Max smiled. She was pleased the he was allowing the conversation to head back into their usual banter; her previous speech had left her feeling exposed.

"Hmm…despite my predilection for Eyes Only wilderness retreats and recon during dinner?" he teased, yet simultaneously probed, wanting to hear the words.

"Hey, cut me a break. You're much more demanding of the genetically enhanced girls than regular ones."

Logan nodded, "Yeah I am. I think more highly of them, so I guess I unfairly expect more."

"Good to know," Max replied softly.

"Yes," Logan answered back, "It is."

The electricity in their gaze continued to gain in intensity before Max pulled away.

"So? You still mad?" she cheekily asked.

"Yeah, but let's just say I'm rapidly getting over it."

One more shared smile and Logan's resolve was back on track.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Max stood pacing in her apartment. She was bored, again. She ran through her different options, well aware that the last time she'd been in a mood like this it has resulted in some seriously wrong behavior.

Debating the likelihood that Original Cindy would kick her butt if she tried to wake her, Max decided she'd better not push it, especially when OC had just agreed to ditching the Xena poster in favor of some more sophisticated décor.

Besides, that's not really what she wanted.

Again and again, Max's thoughts strayed to Logan. He had promised her more than once before leaving that he'd get over his annoyance with her, even threatening to prolong his aggravation if she didn't stop asking. Max didn't want to push her luck, but she really wanted to curl up with a book in his living room.

Deciding he need never know, Max crept upstairs, into his penthouse, and finally – gathering her resolve – into his bedroom where his books lay. She had only done this once before when he was sleeping, feeling like somehow it was forbidden territory. So now, she did it as quietly as possible, at first refusing to look at his sleeping form, and instead concentrating on the variety of titles in front of her.

Finding one that Logan had mentioned on a previous occasion, she stealthily took it off the shelf, being careful not to dislodge anything around it and turned to go.

She almost made too, except upon deciding to cast on quick glance on the dreaming cyber journalist, she'd been arrested by the bare-chested hotness that was Logan Cale in unconscious form.

Damn, Max thought as she appreciated the sculpted chest and tight abdominal muscles. She sent out a quick thanks to that wonderful sheet which had migrated all the way to his lower torso. He was also impossibly adorable with the matted hair and thick lashes. She found herself fantasizing over a number of dangerous and naughty ideas on how she'd like to take advantage of the picture in front of her. And in a purely hedonistic move, she decided to lean back against the wall and indulge for a little while.

Immediately she cursed, as her body dislodged a book on the shelf she had leaned into. Some cat burglar, she sarcastically thought as she noticed Logan rousing.

"Max?" he murmured, sleepily, forcing himself into a semi-upright position.

If Max considered the moment to be surreal, she was certainly the only one. Logan was well versed in this particular dream, and without wasting anytime, blurrily called over to her: "Why are you over there?"

Feeling extremely uncomfortable, Max responded, "Sorry to wake you, I was just grabbing a book off your shelf. For reading…" she added, immediately cursing the obviousness of that response.

"Hmmm…" Logan seemed to consider her for a moment, before giving her a wide, sexy smile. "Come here and show me it to me."

Was he serious? Apparently.

Slowly, Max complied, walking carefully so that if he made any sign that this wasn't what he meant she could quickly turn and save face. He didn't, just continued to look at her with that disconcerting grin that sent waves of want coursing through her. She needed to be very careful.

Tentatively, she sat on the edge of his bed, making sure not to dislodge any of the sheets and held out the book to him. He made no move to reach for it or the lamp on the stand beside him, instead his gaze was focus on her dark shadowy form at the edge of the bed.

"I won't bite," he teased, leaning back into the headboard as he considered her. Max was glad he couldn't see that small swallowing motion she made or the way she needed to wet her suddenly dry lips…this couldn't be happening.

With one fluid motion she moved herself up the bed to sit side by side with Logan against the headboard. Mustering all the sarcasm she could, she asked. "What? You want me to read you a bedtime story?"

Logan's smile never wavered, but he did lean in slightly as he answered in a low tone, "That's exactly what I want you to do."

This time there was no covering the shudder that shook her frame as his breath touched her neck and ear. Max squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to block out the temptation sitting next to her.

"Cold?" Logan solicitously asked, his smile carefully contained. "Get under the covers, and I'll warm you."

Mingled with her desire came an awareness that this could be a conscientious seduction on Logan's part, a design to get her in bed. Certainly he couldn't think her shudder was from cold, her bear, burning upper arm pressed against his. Max realized she needed to get up now or accept the consequences of waking Logan in the middle of the night when apparently his player side was unmodified by his usual caution.

Max had a moment when she could have pulled away, but she didn't. And wordlessly, she let Logan pull the book from her unfeeling fingers, lay it on the bed-side table, and life the sheets from her to climb underneath.

Silently, she did. Maybe Logan wasn't aware of what he was doing, Max thought, but to be with him like this was an opportunity she decided not to resist. She wanted this.

Logan easily reached up and tugged her down into his waiting arms, cocooning her next to his body. Max found herself surrounded by heat, and skin, and pure unadulterated Logan. It was wonderful and erotic, and she found herself no longer restless, but content to stay put and let him seduce her.

Something about the action seemed to move Logan from drowsiness to awareness, and Max could feel the tension that immediately entered his body when he realized this wasn't an allusion. So that was the impetus behind his actions, she thought. Max was really in his arms, in his bed and it was obvious Logan had no idea what to do with her. Max almost laughed aloud at his worry, his apparent guilt.

After a minute or two, Logan groggily murmured, "I'm not sleeping, am I?"

Max couldn't suppress the smile in her voice as she quietly answered, "Nope."

"Want me to let you up?" he asked, casually as possible.

"Nah. I'm good." Max answered, and she was.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Max waited for the minutes to tick by… 6:14; 6:17; 6:23. From her vantage point in Logan's arms, she could make out the alarm clock on his dresser and was counting down the minutes until she could wriggle out of his arms and wake him with the sound of her shower.

The night had proven both wonderful and torturous. After their exchange the two had lay entwined in bed silent and completely still. Neither of them wished to upset the momentary calm or to deal with potentially awkward places that shifting could cause their hands to go. Wide awake, they had laid until the heat generated from their merged bodies lulled Logan into a deep sleep.

That had left Max free to indulge her fantasies, if not her desires. She had literally been submerged in the essence of Logan, physically closer to him then she'd ever been – and yet she had been restrained from doing all the tempting things her mind had had time to conjure up.

And not just physically either, all the anecdotes, reflections, and questions that she thought of had needed to be delayed as he slept. Max never realized how many of the things that went through her mind would eventually be shared in conversation with Logan.

She was restless; both turned-on and tuned up.

With military discipline she waited until the clock struck exactly 6:30, and hastily twisted out his grasp. Time to wake up, she mentally crowed.

XXXX

An utterly confounded and confused Logan sat desperately beside the coffee pot, begging it to brew faster. He could have sworn last night he'd pulled a willing Max into his bed and spent the night cuddling her in his arms. His mind hazily recalled it; and his unruly body seemed to definitely recollect it – and Max was assuredly in his shower – but Logan couldn't necessarily remember the details of how such an event had come to pass, and he had too many dreams to take his half-waking mind on faith.

For some unknown reason, Max had decided to take the shortest shower in the history of their relationship, and was suddenly standing at the doorway to the kitchen before Logan could even get an ounce of the magic draught to his lips.

As was her habit, she was attired in his red robe, smelling fresh and clean, with her hair forming wet ringlets around her face.

It was Logan's breaking point.

"Damn it Max, do you have to wear that robe in the morning?" Logan snapped, never removing his eyes from her lithe form.

She smiled, puzzled but encouraged. Stalking toward him, she asked: "Why; what's wrong with it?"

"Do you have any idea what it does to me?" Logan inquired, his heated gaze meeting with hers.

That was Max's breaking point.

"Not really," she stated suggestively, swaying her hips ever so slightly as she glided toward him. "But I'd like to find out."

As soon as she was within arm reach, Logan pulled her down into her lap, beginning a blistering kiss that had their lips clashing with fierce need.

The coffee was ignored, the headlines went unread, work was postponed. It was morning, and pure insanity reigned as Logan made short work of that single knot….

XXXXXXXXXXXX

**Epilogue**

**5 New Patterns of Max and Logan**

/1/ Breakfast…

"Morning." Max cheerfully stated to the middle-aged couple from down the hall whom she was sharing the elevator with.

She ignored their startled gaze, aware that they weren't use to see a freshly showered young woman in a red robe taking the elevator to the penthouse at 7 in the morning.

Oh well, they might as well get use to it.

Briskly, Max stepped off and made her way into Logan's front door.

"You're late," he called to her, hearing her enter. "I'm already on my third cup."

"Sorry. I was enjoying a nice hot shower in my own apartment. Got anything to eat?" she innocently asked.

"Yeah, there are some waffles over on the stove… and orange juice…" He paused, finally glancing up from the newspaper in front of him, and catching sight of what she was wearing.

Feigning nonchalance, Max quickly walked over to the refrigerator, "Mmmm… orange juice, you know I can't enough of the stuff..."

Before she got a chance to say anything more, Logan had wheeled up behind her. Quickly, he grabbed her by the waist in order to spin her around and pull her onto his lap, forcing her to straddle him.

"God, Max…" Logan murmured, deftly undoing the single knot and thoroughly kissing ever inch of skin he exposed.

"Hey… you know how I get when I'm hungry," she teased, even as she arched her neck slightly to give him more access.

"Hmm… and you know how I get when you wear this…" he huskily whispered back.

Yep, Max thought, groaning as he pulled the robe from her shoulders and trailed his mouth lower, she certainly did….

/2/ Lunch…

"Hey Boo, this is a damn good sandwich, what is it?" Original Cindy asked, before she took another bite of the lunch he had prepared for them.

"It's a Panini," Logan responded, using two of Max and Cindy's heaviest frying pans to create the dish.

"Remind me to get some cooking lessons from you. Original Cindy needs some new ways to entice her latest lickity chick."

Max laughed, "And how goes it in the single world."

"Not like either of you two care, but Crash has had a new insurgence of fineness. Damn near hurt my neck, twisting around to look at all the goods."

Both Logan and Max laughed, happy for Original Cindy and content with their own lot in life.

/3/ Work…

"Hey… you paged?"

"Oh, hey Max," Logan called, looking up from his computer. "I'm working on this lead and I was wondering if you could break into this location in South Market to bring me back some files."

"Maybe…" she teased, as she plopped down into Logan's lap. "Tell me what's up."

Kissing the top of her head, Logan began, "Well you see, these guys have been running a smuggling ring through some local tattoo parlors. At first, it seemed like nothing major, but…"

Logan found himself struggling to concentrate as Max squirmed on his lap and played with his fingers. Finally needing to address the issue, he scolded her… "Max, stop it. This is important."

She laughed at him, turning to give him a quick kiss on the lips before resuming her attention on the screen. "Sorry… so okay, you think these guys are trying to smuggle in some high grade weapons from across the way and…"

Max's focus began to slip as Logan's sexy fingers started to draw circles higher and higher on her thigh.

Refusing to lose this round of distraction tactics, especially when she was the one who had introduced the game, Max forced herself to articulate her Eyes Only mission, only to lose track of the last few syllables of her words in a soft moan of ecstasy as Logan began to trace her barcode with his tongue.

"No fair, you know that's my weak point," she muttered.

"Mmm… all's fair in war, Max." Logan bantered, before placing small kisses down the back of her throat. "Besides… you're my weak point."

/4/ Dinner…

"Are you going to feed me, or just sit there all day?" Max demanded.

Dinner didn't change.

Logan still cooked; Max still ate; both enjoyed their witty repartee.

They just looked forward to more than chess once it finished.

/5/ Night…

"Can I read this to you, Logan?" Max asked, delighted in the cleverness of the author's prose.

"Of course," Logan responded, placing a quick kiss on Max's bare shoulder before leaning back against the bed's headboard and setting his journal aside, inspiration had been easy to come by lately.

Contentedly, Max began to read, enjoying the soft strokes of Logan's fingers as he wove them through her curls. She knew he'd let her continue until she was finished, never interrupting, even if he began to nod off. This was the ritual, their cherished time together away from the pressures of the world.

Herbal had been right, Max thought, she'd ended up just where she needed to be.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The End.


End file.
